


Searching for Answers

by Happy_Veggie_Farmer



Series: Answers [2]
Category: The Blacklist (TV)
Genre: F/M, Original Character(s)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-19
Updated: 2015-02-16
Packaged: 2018-02-26 05:33:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 16
Words: 43,414
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2639966
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Happy_Veggie_Farmer/pseuds/Happy_Veggie_Farmer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Liz and Red need the help of some old trusted friends to help investigate illicit business dealings by a well-respected American aeronautics manufacturer.  Meanwhile, new and unexpected alliances are formed and tested.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I had so much fun writing the last story, I thought I'd try another one while we're waiting for new episodes.  
> If you haven't read "No Easy Answers", go back and read that first and this will make much more sense. So that I can continue that story line, I'm also pretending season two never happened.  
> I am making no money from this story - its all for fun. As for characters, I own Special Agent Elenna Davidson and Mr. William Price; everyone else is the legal property of someone else.
> 
>  
> 
> I hope you enjoy!!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Reddington and Davidson make a deal.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you're an Elenna fan, the notes at the end of the chapter are for you.  
> If you're not an Elenna fan, don't worry - the rest of the story is much more Red/Liz.

Agent Elenna Davidson treated Friday nights just like any other evening of her grueling work week. She would leave the Post Office at exactly five o'clock and munch on her high-protein snack in her car on the way to her evening training program. Fridays was her boxing lesson; other nights were krav maga and MMA lessons and practice bouts. Mondays were reserved for yoga as a soft transition back into training after the weekend rest days.

After an hour long session she would return to her loft in the cheaper part of the city for the remainder of the evening. After first changing out of her work clothes she would visit the small kitchen nook. Dinner would be transferred first from the freezer to the microwave then over to the couch, where she would first check the news then watch last night's DVRed late night comedians while devouring her meal.

After this she would yawn, stretch, and embark on the twenty feet journey from the living area to the fully equipped practice area she had installed in bits and pieces over the previous year. Floor to ceiling mirrors ran across two full walls; professional grade practice mats covered the reinforced wooden floor. It had been an expensive drain on her government salary, but she had convinced herself it was cheaper in the long run than renting private training facilities. After two more hours of independent practice in her own home facility, she would shower then return to the couch for the night, usually falling asleep stretched out across its comfortably sagging black leather seats under a blanket her mother had crocheted for her long ago.

This Friday was different. This night she skipped her boxing lesson. She called her trainer from the clogged mess of downtown DC traffic with fervent sincere apologies. His response was concern, since for the last three years she had never missed a lesson. She lied about something keeping her at work and swore she never intended to cancel a lesson again. The lies only infuriated her even farther than the event that had triggered her change in plans. This evening she skipped the microwave meal and TV and went straight for the punching bag with a string of vehement and colorful loud curses.  After a half hour of this, still sputtering with anger she finally stormed into the bedroom to switch out her now ripped and sweaty office clothes for proper workout gear. When she returned to the practice area she switched to knife practice.

The hint of movement in the corner of the mirror caught her attention immediately. Without a thought she spun and aimed the knife she had been clutching at the fedora she had spotted in the mirror. "Good evening, Agent Davidson," Reddington replied calmly. He shifted his eyes to study the blade that was now buried two inches away from his ear in the wood of the frame of the front door. "Keeping up your skills, I see."

"What the hell are you doing here!" she snarled at his image in the mirror. She had tossed her towel on the kitchen chair that now doubled as a table in the workout zone. She turned away from him to dab at the sweat dripping down her neck. "Get out now or the next knife hits home."

"I understand you had a little confrontation today with one of my people. He needs a joint replacement and months of physical therapy." He removed his hat and coat as if he intended to stay for some time, and hung both with care on the otherwise empty coat rack in the entryway. He was dressed in his usual impeccable vest and tie combination. She had always wondered if he even owned casual clothes; she and Ressler had spent some drunken late night hours debating that one. Red approached closer, invading her personal space with his usual overabundance of confidence. He studied the practice area with great interest, sharing a story about a boxer he had known once as he wandered around, picking up objects that caught his attention and returning them to the wrong locations.

Elenna glanced down at her outfit. Like any other evening she wore just a pair of shorts and sports bra for her lonely practice hours; she decided that pulling on another layer to cover up might just make him feel encouraged to stay longer. He took no notice of her outfit or attitude, but instead made himself comfortable by pulling in another chair from the kitchen nook and taking a seat in the middle of the practice floor. Legs crossed, he gazed up with that insufferable patient expression as if she had been inexcusably late to their long-booked appointment. It had been nearly two months since the last time they had been in each other's company, but that look was one of the most irksome memories she carried from their time together.

"Why did you attack my associate, Agent Davidson?"

"Stop sending people to follow me," she retorted, "and we won't have these problems. I don't need or want your people hovering over me, especially when I'm on a case."

"I understand you are very skilled at self-protection," he answered. He made a show out of studying the room, noting with great interest the collection of practice weapons on display along the wall. "But understand I will continue to keep you and Agent Ressler under protection for the foreseeable future until I am assured your employer is fully trustworthy."

"Then I will continue to beat the crap out of anyone I catch," she snapped. "The health care benefits are going to get expensive. Hope you can get the group rate."

He shook his head at her stubbornness. "From your personal history I can understand you have complex feelings on this matter, but I..."

She cut him off by grabbing him roughly by the collar of his vest and pulling him half-way out of his seat. "No, you stay out of my personal life. Get out of this apartment right now, Reddington or I swear by all that is good and holy..."

"It happened during your college years," Red continued, seemingly unconcerned about her threat. "You were an undergraduate at Lehigh University majoring in geological sciences. Interesting choice for you. You switched later to criminal sciences."

She froze up, fingers tightening for a moment on the vest, then she dropped her hold to walk away. "That isn't any of your damn business."

"Stalking, attempted abductions that continued on for several months. I'm sure that was quite frightening for a young defenseless woman."

"You got into VICAP again, didn't you?" she retreated to the kitchen to pull out a drink from the fridge. "Why are you here? Did Liz finally come to her senses and kick you out?"

There was no way to distract him. "Your case file didn't have all of the pertinent information, such as the details of the notes he left for you posted across the campus. They were quite disturbing." The real hint of concern in his voice was like fingernails down a chalkboard; it was worse than if she could assume he was only up to his typical heartless manipulations.

"He was insane. Completely delusional." Elenna slammed the fridge door shut with her hip as her hands were full of sports drink bottle and empty cup. "He said he was going to take me away to some imaginary world and make me queen or something."

"'Lady of the Southlands' was the title he used in several of the messages," Red corrected her. "Your stalker was never found?"

"No, he disappeared the last time he tried to abduct me." She laughed without humor. "Literally disappeared. It was like he was there one minute and gone the next. After that he stopped the attacks, and the investigation hit a dead end." She was leaning against the kitchen island, clutching her cup and frowning into space. He joined her in the kitchen; hovering silently far enough away to remain non-distracting but close enough to provide some comfort for the few moments she reluctantly relived the traumatic memories.

"Alexander Buchman," he said finally.

Her head whipped around in dumbfounded wonder. "How did you..."

"I am a man of great resources," he declared with a shrug. "I had my people compare artist renditions from your descriptions with student attendance records and confidential records of treatment through student services. I can give you his entire history up to the time of your last encounter, but I can't find any trace of him afterwards. If he was still alive, I would have found some evidence of his continued existence and current location. I am convinced you need not worry about him returning again, Agent Davidson."

"He must have went over to his imaginary world after all." There was more bitterness than humor in her attempted quip. "Cooper knows. Liz and Res don't. Keep it that way."

"Of course," Red assured her. "I don't reveal private information, Agent Davidson."

"No, you just use it for your own manipulative reasons," was Elenna's comeback. She squared her shoulders as she faced him directly. "You don't get to use this to score points with me, Reddington. I still don't trust you, and I still won't let you put people on my tail."

"Not all of the people watching you are mine," Red informed her. "I had several reasons for coming to visit you in person tonight. First, you and Agent Ressler have been placed under observation by someone whom I am sure is connected with the bad apples embedded at the agency. This person is extremely well connected and extremely dangerous."

"One of your buddies?" Elenna finally gave in, muttered a quick excuse-me, and swooped back to the bedroom of the loft to zip up a hoodie and jeans over her practice outfit. When she returned to the kitchen, she found Reddington was now one by one pulling out and investigating all of her cabinet drawers. "Looking for something?"

"Where do you keep your bottle opener? I found a couple passible bottles of ale in the back of the refridgerator." He held up one of the bottles her brother had stashed there months ago as emergency rations.

"I think my opening words were 'get the hell out', Red. Too subtle?" She shook her head in amazement as he started pawing through the junk drawer by the dishwasher. "The church key is hanging on the side of the fridge."

"Church key? My grandmother called it that, too." Before he could start in on the upper cabinets, she pulled out her favorite matched set of Musikfest commemorative beer mugs and placed them on the tiny kitchen table. "One drink just because I'm curious why you risked coming here if we're under unfriendly surveillance. Or did Liz kick you out? Here's hoping."

Red took over the task of opening and pouring the ales for both of them. Their conversation was delayed by his slow and thoughtful consideration of his first and second sips. His praise was measured and honest but wasted on her; Elenna honestly disliked beer and only kept some on hand for her guests. "Awesome, Red. Now move this talk along already. I've got plans for the night that don't involve you."

He replied to her previous comment. "Lizzie is simply wonderful. She's quite happy in our new life, as I'm sure you'll be happy to hear. She is unaware that I have come to see you tonight for valid reasons I will soon explain. But first promise me that you will never reveal our discussion nor its results to either Lizzie or Agent Ressler."

The blank look was back as he waited for her response. Elenna frowned again at his request. "I don't keep secrets from my partners. Well, I don't keep work secrets," she retorted.

"I have come to understand how damaging secrets can be to a relationship," he admitted. "So I don't keep secrets from Lizzie anymore. This will be the only exception, and I make this exception for the best of reasons. You and I are going to work together to investigate some painful truths, Agent Davidson, that may in the future present some danger to Lizzie. I can't guarantee I can protect her until I am fully informed myself of the potential risks. I need you to help her by agreeing to my terms and working with me."

"Why me? Why not Res?" Elenna asked immediately. "Or the people you already have on the payroll ready and willing to do your evil bidding."

"Several reasons, Agent Davidson," he said with a slight shrug. "Because you are fiercely loyal to Lizzie. Because you take such obvious delight in disliking me so intensely that no one would ever suspect us of collusion."

"Its true I hate your guts." Elenna took a sip of her drink. "What would you need me to do?"

"I need two things from you. First, I need you to run a DNA test for me to confirm a familial relationship. I'll have the blood samples brought to you as part of a blacklist case. You can run it through the system without drawing any special notice or bringing any attention back to me. Next, I need you to locate someone who has been placed in the Witness Protection Program."

"You know we don't have access to those files," she argued.

"Not in your official capacity as an FBI agent, but you have a good friend that owes you a favor, I believe. The person I seek was named Oliver Greenwich. He would have entered the program in late 1990 or early 1991."

Her eyebrows furled at the familiar timespan. "That was right when you abandoned your family and started your little crime spree. Hmm, shall we call that a coincidence?"

He sighed. "Agent Davidson, I've told you that you don't get to know all of my secrets. That is still true."

"I'll get there eventually. So my doing this will help Liz? Because I'm surely not doing anything for you just because you researched my own personal little boogie man."

"Buchman was a thank you for previous services rendered." Finally he rose to his feet and gathered up his coat and hat. "And I received the impression he is someone this world could do well enough without. All of the signals from the listening devices planted in this charming apartment are currently being diverted so that we could have this little chat. Within ten minutes of my departure they will be functional again. Assume that both you and Agent Ressler have unfriendly ears listening at all times. Let my people do their jobs, Agent Davidson. If they protect you, they would now in a way also be protecting her, and I believe you would accept any annoyance if it meant your friend's safety."

"You really are a jerk, you know that, right?" she snapped, but the viciousness had gone out of her voice and become only irritation. "I want to see Liz."

"She would like to see you as well. You will have the chance shortly, I believe. I have some plans in motion that I may need to bring in both you and Agent Ressler for expert help." He gazed around the practice area again. "This is quite an arena you've created here, Agent Davidson. Your skills are quite magnificent."

Only two feet away from the door, and he paused again. Elenna crossed her arms and waited. "One more detail and I'm out of your hair. Lizzie's position on the task force has not been filled yet, has it?"

"Cooper is taking forever choosing someone," Elenna agreed.

"Don't trust the replacement," Red told her simply. "I'll see you again soon, Agent Davidson."

"Lucky me," she quipped, but he was already gone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Agent Elenna Davidson escaped from Alexander Buchman's attempted abductions in this reality. There is another reality in which she didn't escape. Alexander may be disturbed, but he wasn't lying when he told her that he could take her to another world. If you would like to learn about Lady Elenna's battles with the Lord of the Southlands, you can read about them in the book "The Lord Son's Travels" by Emma Mickley, available on Amazon.
> 
> (Yeah, I feel a little yucky plugging my book here, but you're all such nice people I thought you could forgive the commercialism!)


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> On the run from the FBI, Red decides to take Lizzie to visit one of his favorite secrets.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wan't going to post again so soon, but I had lots of time on my hands while Trevor and Pete the plumbers, Frank the insurance adjuster, and Thomas the water recovery guy huddled in my sopping wet living room. This chapter is dedicated to them.
> 
> This is Red/Liz shippy and gooey, but I needed the happy thoughts! Well, let's be honest - the rest of this story is rather shippy too. Thats just how we roll.
> 
> Chapter three will come out next Thursday, and additional chapters Thursdays after that.

Reddington had told Agent Davidson the truth; Lizzie was wonderfully happy.

The transition from law enforcement to wanted criminal had been exceedingly difficult, both emotionally and in the minutiae of the tasks involved. She had decided, just like Reddington had done at the start of his criminal career, to keep using her real name as often as was feasible. But she now also kept at the ready a go-bag of additional IDs, complete with full documentation, each with its own built-in history and credence-lending details that she needed to memorize intimately in order for the ID to ever function successfully. After their departure from the US, they remained constantly in motion; every few days switching countries and often continents as they raced to remain several steps ahead of the brilliant agents tasked with recovering the traitors and bringing them back to face justice. Cooper merely played his role carefully in the effort, but the agents of the other departments involved were personally offended by Agent Keen's betrayal of her duties. 

The press was saturated with both of their updated images. Red had promised once to make her famous. That had come true when the 24 hour news networks had latched on to their disappearance, gleefully labeling them the Bonnie and Clyde of the 21st century. The story of the criminal and the pretty FBI agent running off together gripped audiences worldwide with its enticing combination of true crime and romance, though of course the press could not describe the highly classified conditions under which the star-crossed couple had met. Both had to break off all contact with anyone or any location the FBI could ever conceivably utilize in their hunt; even Mr. Kaplan cut ties for the short term with the understanding that when the fuss died down she would be able to reconnect with them again.

Despite the constant fear of discovery and the pangs of guilt at her abandonment of her career, Lizzie had to admit to herself that deep down she harbored no regrets at all. Everything she had lost was easily overshadowed by the joy she had gained. The tribulations of escape only made their love grow stronger as a result. When everything she encountered was new, strange, and sometimes overwhelming, for Raymond this was the same old life he had known for the last twenty years, and he could calmly reassure her that everything was going to be fine. She had some taste of sharing a home with him during their travels to Europe that previous summer, so some of their odd little personal habits had already previously surfaced and been either graciously or grudgingly accepted. Now that they were sharing private spaces as well, the adjustment period had some moments of incredulous discoveries and indignant demands. But like any other couple, what difficulties they couldn't solve through negotiation were usually delegated to either good-humored teasing or mutually ignored. 

At first Red had deliberately stayed away from all of his business concerns and let Dembe manage his daily financial affairs. As time passed and he felt more secure in both their personal relationship and the new security team he had hired, he began to slowly resume his position in the criminal realm. During this time he also began to cautiously offer Lizzie access into his criminal enterprises. She asked a few questions that he answered honestly, even when the answers were difficult or shameful. She accepted some unsavory admissions without comment. She never lied to herself that he was some kind of angel or hero. She had known from the day they met Raymond Reddington was deeply flawed and extremely dangerous, and even her love could never gloss over that knowledge. But she had come to understand that he truly believed that the good he intended to bring into the world would someday justify the acts he committed now. And now everyday she could touch the scars he covered with expensive suits and remind herself again of the painful self-sacrifice he had once willingly undergone for the sake of someone else's child. 

One day over breakfast Raymond announced that he had a destination in mind where they could finally settle down for a stretch of time. His eyes sparkled, betraying the nonchalant tone in which he had delivered the announcement. Lizzie agreed readily to leave that evening. Usually she knew the name and hemisphere of the next stop on their journeys before she boarded the jet. This time he insisted on keeping the destination a surprise. After takeoff, when they had reached level flight and they could escape from their separate seatbelts, he shooed off Dembe towards the pilot's cabin and pulled her to cuddle with him on the jet's leather sofa. He held her tightly encircled within the reach of his arms on the leather sofa of the jet, laid kisses in her hair and promised an extraordinary place, without the crowds that had ruined all of the other extraordinary places. Liz knew to believe him, of course, but she had learned quickly that with Raymond, she could never guess what form extraordinary would take.

The jet landed six hours later in Glasgow, Scotland. Liz assured Red that she had always dreamed of seeing the Highlands in person, keeping her disappointment politely to herself. His eyes crinkled with humor at her good-natured assumption, and warned her that the rest of the journey would take some time. Dembe had arranged for a car to be waiting as soon as they cleared customs with their brand new IDs. Soon enough they had driven out of the city proper to admire the lovely views of the coastline bounded by their narrow ribbon of road.

After a couple of hours they reached a small town nestled around a small harbor. The village was tiny and charming, and Liz started to lose her slight resentment of the lost time spent jostled on the bumpy road. But instead of stopping at one of the little shops along the way, the car continued on down the three blocks of Main Street directly to the municipal port. The boat slots were all empty save one; a freshly painted little ferry boat was tied up at the end of the long pier. An older man in a windbreaker relaxed on one of a series of wooden benches deployed along the pier, smoking a cigarette as he studied the small clouds dotting the sky.

As soon as Dembe stopped the car Raymond jumped out, then leaned back in to address Lizzie with a cheerful grin. "Come, Lizzie, this is the best part!" He took her hand to help her out of the cramped backseat of their little rental. He refused to let go of her hand, and in his eagerness half-dragged her from the parking lot towards the pier. The waiting man acknowledged their approach with a wave and stubbed out his cigarette with his shoe.

"Can we cross tonight?" Raymond called out as soon as they were in shouting distance.

"Of course, Mr. Tennant," the owner assured him in the thick local brogue. "The winds and waves are perfect. It's as if the seas were waiting for you."

Raymond eagerly studied their transportation, stepping back and forth along the pier to catch different angled views of the boat. Liz took the time to search up and down the coast and then out to sea. Except for the little village, there were no signs of any other residences.

"Where are we going?" she finally asked.

"Our island," was his mysterious reply. Dembe caught her eye and smiled in reassurance before disappearing beneath decks with their baggage.

In all of their previous adventures, Liz had never taken a boat ride with her new partner.  She was amazed at the change that came over him as they departed the port. His vest and tie were off within minutes of their boarding, to be replaced by a well-worn slicker and wool cap borrowed from the ship's supply. He climbed around the narrow confines of the deck, studying the boat suspciously as if he were looking for discrepancies from a loved old memory. Liz took a seat on a bench in a quiet spot near the center of the boat. As they pulled away from the pier, the engine chugged away in a tune that she swore sounded like "I think I can". As soon as they departed of the protection of the cove, they picked up speed and the vibrations of the engine and boat thankfully eased a bit.

Now she understood why Raymond had chosen the Navy so many years ago. He had devolved quickly back into a little boy again, climbing up and over all of the decks to catch sight of everything, shouting questions back to the captain about their heading and conditions and other topics Liz didn't understand. But she understood he was happy; giddy in a way she had never known he was capable. Once in a while he would catch her attention and beam at her with such fondness and love that she could bear the nausea-inducing rocking of the boat for some time longer without complaint.

"Raymond grew up on the water," Dembe explained as he joined her on the back deck. She had cautiously tapped the railing before trusting it enough to lean forward and catch sight of the magnificent views of the land they were leaving behind. "He had his first sailboat at age fourteen. He won several races during his years at the Academy. During his school breaks he would travel solo for weeks at a time."

She turned around to watch Raymond at the front of the boat laughing with the captain and pointing to something in the water ahead. "Dolphins, likely," Dembe guessed. "He'll want you to see." So she went upfront, treading carefully in her sandals on the slippery wooden deck, and let him introduce her to all of the wonders of the sea as they passed into view.

Their destination became visible only an hour into the ride.  Without warning several small islands poked up suddenly above the flat plane of the sea. The daylight was growing dimmer; several lights flashed on each of the islands. Red grabbed her hand and used it to motion to one in particular. "That's our island," he proclaimed proudly.

"What is its name?" she asked. She wondered if it was some kind of exclusive resort that asked no questions when enough gold crossed hands.

"I can never remember the island's name, honestly. We should decide on a new name this visit," he replied oddly. She furled her eyebrows in consternation. "Its our island, Lizzie. We own it. It's one of the larger provinces of the Kingdom of Stevonia."

"What is the Kingdom of Stevonia?" she inquired doubtfully. He answered with the head tilt and grin he always assumed when he was about to share something strange, criminal, or both. "Back in the 1980's Steve discovered that these islands had never been formally claimed by any government. So he claimed them, legitimately through vast amounts of paperwork at the UN. They're quite the little paradise on Earth, Lizzie. No taxes, no burdensome regulations, and most importantly no extradition treaties. There are no official laws at all except King Steve's ban on murder, rape, and smoking cigarettes. He lives on the island just north of ours. South of us is a charming little tax shelter; two human residents and 1,433 registered international corporations headquartered in mail boxes. The humans are quite lovely people. We'll invite them over for dinner some evening if you like."

Her surprise grew when the captain steered into a small cove on their island in order to dock. A large sailboat was already berthed there. Raymond sighed deeply with satisfaction when his eyes came upon the welcome sight. Lizzie's gaze was drawn instead up the steep hillside of the island. A number of carved stone steps switchbacked from the dock to the top of the hill. They seemed well-maintained, but Lizzie hoped if that they were the way to their final destination, she would be safely on the top side before dusk made the climb even trickier.

Raymond was the first to exit from the water taxi after offering his thanks to the captain for the ride. Lizzie and Dembe followed a few minutes behind to find that he had already climbed onboard the sailboat to investigate its reaches as best he could in the failing light. Dembe boarded as well to gently chide his friend with warnings about the lateness of the hour.

The men disembarked to find Lizzie had gone ahead to wait at the bottom of the flight of carved stairs. They were old, she had realized with interest. The stone had been worn nearly marble-smooth by legions of shoes ascending and descending for probably centuries. Modern handrails and motion-sensitive lighting had been installed at each step so even as dusk fell completely they could finish the climb safely, though all of them were huffing slightly from the effort at the top.

As they reached level ground, Lizzie gasped in wonder. On the other side of a manicured English-style formal garden was a perfectly renovated stone fortress, well-lit and welcoming in the darkness. "Wentwell Abbey," Raymond explained after she exclaimed 'castle!' with joy. "It passed between English and Scottish control so many times that Steve was able to argue that neither had legal claim to it. We have a caretaker that lives here full time. Peter is an amateur archeologist as well so watch out for active dig sites as you explore the grounds. Welcome to your castle, Lizzie!"

He slipped his arms around her, letting his chin rest on her shoulder as he treasured her joyful reaction. In Sam's occasional letters during her teen years, he had lamented Lizzie's slight obsession with Arthurian legends and the medieval time period in general. Red's purchase of the island had been for very practical reasons, but he had often wondered idly during visits how young Lizzie would react to the sight of it. Now he knew. Too many amazing sights were vying for her attention, causing her to freeze with joyful indecision. He solved the dilemma by taking her hand. "You'll have all day tomorrow to explore the grounds in full light. Come see what Peter has done with the interior."


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Liz and Raymond explore the Abbey and its secrets.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope everyone had a wonderful holiday!
> 
> Proud mom moment - my daughter just posted the first chapter of her story over in the Supernatural fandom. The family that fanfics together...

Every girl has their fantasies growing up of princes and castles and a fairy-tale life. Liz had some as well.

Sam had been extremely grateful that her Disney princess stage was mercifully short. There had been only one summer of her girlhood filled with polyester ball gowns and plastic tiaras that were quickly outgrown and left abandoned in a pile in the back of her closet.  But although the trappings were gone, she still had moments lost in daydreams imagining the perfect man carrying her off to a castle far away from her troubles and fears.  When she found the teacher and townhouse she believed she was living that dream.  When everything had started falling apart she resisted the truth for so long, in part because of the loss of her husband's love and her own pride, and in part to spite the man she thought was deliberately taking it away, but deep in her heart it was the potential loss of that dream that wounded so badly and kept her hanging on when she knew all real hope was gone.  Tom wasn't the prince, and the townhouse wasn't the castle that would protect her from the dangers that had always lingered just out of sight but still sensed and feared.

Her first thought when Raymond escorted her through the towering oak doors of Wentwell Abbey was that she had indeed achieved the fantasy of her youth.  Liz was speechless as she froze transfixed in the middle of the ornate entry hall, for a moment blocking Dembe and his heavy loads of their baggage. She murmured an apology as she moved forward to run her hand gently over the carved wooden frame of an small Rubens painting. As she passed along the spacious hallway, she ghosted her hand very gently over all of objects she encountered. Everything, she was very sure, was a priceless irreplaceable antique.

She realized Raymond had been rambling on since the stepped through the doorway and focused her attention on him again. "Peter told me that this was how the place was decorated during the reign of one of the King Georges. It was the McCrimmon family estate for hundreds of years before financial difficulties caused the family to leave it unoccupied for some time. Then the last family member died without an heir and the place was simply abandoned until Steve claimed the islands."

She merely followed slowly behind as he made a quick inspection of the main rooms of the first floor. "I thought Peter would be here to greet us, but he must have already returned to the guest quarters. What do you think, Lizzie?"

"Why didn't you tell me you own a castle?" she asked.

He pursed his lips, wondering himself at the question. "I suppose the topic never came up. It is a rather odd statement to drop in the middle of most conversations," he finally rationalized. "Do you like it?"

"It's fantastic, amazing..." she finally rested her hand against the back of the antique velvet sofa.

"It's intimidating," he replied calmly. "I'm afraid to sit down in here myself. These are the formal rooms, Lizzie. There's an apartment on the second floor for daily living that isn't so museum."

He smiled at her sigh of relief, and let the way up the grand wooden staircase to the second floor. One wing contained several ornate sitting rooms and bedrooms; the other contained a multi-room modernized apartment. Dembe refused their offer to share their evening meal and excused himself quietly to retreat to the guest quarters. The kitchen had been fully stocked in anticipation of their arrival that day. Both fixed themselves simple sandwiches and chips, dancing back and forth around each other with ease despite the tight quarters and their unfamiliarity with the layout.

"When did you buy this place?" Liz asked as she carried her plate to the table.

Raymond leaned on the open refrigerator door as he contemplated his memories. "It was during the late nineties. I had some business dealings with King Steve at the time and he invited me for a visit. The buildings were a bit dilapidated at the time but I could see the possibilities."

"King Steve," she repeated with amusement.

He shrugged in understanding. "He is quite the character. You'll find him intriguing, I promise. Our only method of transportation between islands is by boat, Lizzie. Have you ever been on a sailboat before?" As she admitted she hadn't his excitement grew. "You'll love it, sweetheart! I keep my favorite boat docked here full-time. She looked to be in fine shape, but I'll give her a full going-over tomorrow before we take her out to sea."

The next morning after a quick simple breakfast, Raymond kissed her, wished her happy explorations and eagerly departed down the steps to the dock, leaving Lizzie to venture across the grounds on her own. She spent hours touring the estate with ever increasing delight at each discovery.  She started with the formal gardens they had first encountered the night before. The garden was bordered on two sides by a grove of ash trees mixed with native birches, with narrow paths cunningly cut through to provide lengthy walks within their depths that somehow never overlapped. The other two sides of the formal garden were bordered by a series of greenhouses filled with more delicate flowering plants, and a small but charming herb garden.

One well-maintained path led away from the back of one of the greenhouses, curiously unmarked but still inviting. It rose at a gentle incline across a small meadow before plunging into the native untouched forests of the island. Suddenly the slope changed dramatically. The last several hundred feet were a challenge but Liz's curiosity was too engaged to turn back now for better climbing shoes. Finally the path emerged into a bright open clearing at the top of highest peak on the island, where a wooden gazebo offered a marvelous 360 degree view of the surrounding blue waters and several other islands.  Liz rested here for a while on one of the gazebo benches, which had been perfectly situated to view the sea bird community that had claimed the beaches on the northern reaches of their island. Arms clasped around her legs, Liz closed her eyes to enjoy the faint warmth of the late autumn sunlight. She imagined the romantic picnics they could share here, or the incredible view of the stars she was sure were available if they would make the journey at night.

Liz took one more look around at the peaceful scene. The gazebo had already moved up high on her list of favorite finds on the island. She was already sure she would spent much more time here during their visit, but she still intended to investigate the other rooms of the Abbey she had missed during their arrival last night. The hike back down was more difficult due to the loose stones that had been used to line the path. She made a mental note to tell Pete to use something more sturdy, and inwardly shrugged at her already innate sense of ownership.

Once back at the garden, by impulse she crossed to the top of the stairs leading down to the dock. A rock wall separated the grounds from the steep cliffs on either side of the entry to the steps, she leaned over gingerly to try to see if she could spot the small bay from above. She frowned when she saw both the dock and the sailboat still berthed there were deserted. Liz surmised that likely Raymond was either inside the cabin or maybe had come back up to the Abbey. He popped out on to the deck as she watched, dressed in casual jeans and tattered black t-shirt, carrying a bucket in one hand and a sponge in the other. That was a sight she never imagined she would see, but his happiness in his labors was obvious even at that distance. She decided to let him enjoy his work for some time longer and save her questions for the upcoming lunch hour they had planned to spend together.

She used the remaining time to visit several of the Abbey formal rooms before lunch was served by Dembe in their little apartment kitchen. They chatted with Dembe about his morning spent with Peter the groundskeeper and the minutiae of grounds management issues they had discussed. Dembe then formally asked Raymond for permission to leave the island that afternoon for a period of time to visit with his sister's family in France. Raymond assured him they would do quite well without him and wished him a safe journey. "Dembe always uses my time on the island as opportunity to visit family. Even without him we are very well protected here, Lizzie." He flashed a sudden and guilty smile. "All of the other loyal citizens of Stevonia have material interest in keeping me alive and able to maintain my ongoing operations."

Liz let that one slide without comment. After pouring herself another cup of tea, she asked the question that had arisen during her downstairs tour. "Raymond, why hasn't the library been renovated as well?"

He blinked rapidly as he tilted his head. Her heart sank slightly at his nervous tell. Somehow she had stumbled onto a sensitive topic. "Does the room displease you, Lizzie?"

"The book collection is marvelous," she replied immediately. "Although I was surprised the majority of the books were more modern than I would have expected. But the furniture isn't from the same time period as the rest of the house."

"I'm glad you like the collection," he answered slowly. "I spent many years gathering those books. They're all of my favorite works, Lizzie. When I find something new I like, I have a copy delivered here."

Something about his expression caused her to stare for a moment as she pulled several different thoughts together to create a stunning realization. "Everything in that room are possessions from your previous life from before you left that Christmas."

"You are still quite the intuitive investigator, Lizzie," he answered after a pause with a rueful smile. "I had acquaintances who were kind enough to pack up as many of my belongings as they could retrieve from the house. They maintained the items in storage while I hid from the world, waiting until I was ready to place them in a new home. Many of my books have had to be replaced, but the tables and chairs are antiques I had inherited from my grandparents. I even have some mementos from my school days packed away in there."

At first, after his confession, she intended to respect his privacy and stay away from the library, but it beckoned to her and within the first week of their stay she visited again to chose an unfamiliar book at random from the reading selection. When he first noted one night what she was reading he merely commented that he first purchased that edition while in high school and had reread it many times since. With this tacit approval she began to visit the library regularly. He left her to explore its contents alone. Whenever she entered its reaches he would find some reason to leave the Abbey, usually to visit his boat or Peter but sometimes just to wander the garden or wooded paths. Alone she perused row after row of books, each seemingly randomly placed but she sensed with some kind of order meaningful only to him. Most of the books were classic icons but some were more recent works from bestselling authors. She was astonished by the number of science fiction works from the last century. Most were well worn and yellowed with age, leading her to assume these were from his original collection and his favorites. When the weather was too tempting she would carry her latest novel to the gazebo to read, but usually she stayed within the library, curled up in her favorite overstuffed armchair. Sometimes he would ask her to bring a certain book to him, but as far as she could tell he never stepped foot in the room.

Her assumption lasted until their third week on the island, when Raymond had departed for a four day business trip. She stopped by the library the evening of his departure to chose a new book. When she curled up in her favorite chair with her chosen read, she realized to her astonishment a number of items had been spread out in display on the coffee table. One was the yearbook from his senior year of high school. There was also a box filled with photos and keepsakes from roughly the same time period. She spent the evening studying these rare glimpses into the past of the man she loved but still didn't fully understand. When he returned, neither spoke about the mementos, but every several days new items would mysteriously appear on the table. One night she found a picture of a young vibrant Raymond with one arm wrapped tightly around a curly-haired smiling women. At his other side was a cheerful little girl, who was holding a doll and gazing up at him with an expression of such perfect love and trust that Liz burst into tears. The picture remained there several days, than unlike the other items disappeared from the room.

A month after their arrival on an afternoon ripe with promise for perfect weather, Liz joined Raymond at the luncheon table already dressed for sailing. He had started daily lessons within the first few days of the arrival on the island. She had been skeptical at first but under his gentle guidance she had learned quickly to appreciate the feel of the wind and spray of the water. Now she loved the hours at sea for its own beauty and not just for the sake of his company. "

What's wrong?" she asked quickly as she sensed his mood.

He forced a smile. "I have had some business come up that I feel must be addressed in person, and this situation may be quite time-consuming. If you're willing to come back on the road with me, I'd rather you come along."

"If you want," she agreed readily.

Some of her reluctance must have shown through, because he frowned slightly. "I am pleased you are so happy here at the Abbey," he started. "I had hoped you would care for it as much as I do. But Lizzie, I think you'll be quite happy to take this trip with me when I tell you who else I would like to join us on this mission. I still have a list, sweetheart, and the man I need to speak to ranks quite high on that list. Would you be willing to return to duty and join up again with Agents Ressler and Davidson?"

"Tell me about this man. What makes him rate so high on your list?" she asked.

He smiled at the sudden return of Agent Keen. "He's a very interesting man. He's a well-respected American citizen about to commit a truly heinous act of treason. I think your former partners would be glad to part of any team preventing this type of criminal act. Could you contact them and arrange a meeting for tomorrow?"

"Where and when?" He gave her a time and place to text to her friend as well as a message for Dembe to meet them at that location as well. "I am sorry to leave this place so soon," he admitted. "We shall return here as soon as we can, I promise. I believe there is so much more for us here to share, Lizzie."


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Red brings the latest case to Liz, and Agents Ressler and Davidson.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you are enjoying the story so far!
> 
> I haven't done the legal stuff for a while. Elenna Davidson is the only one I claim as my own - all other characters are just visiting.

Raymond Reddington had ruined yet another Friday night for Agent Davidson.

Tonight she was stuck, overheated, itchy and bored, in the first row of balcony seats at the Opera House at the Kennedy Performing Arts Center. She had forgotten the name of the opera she was supposed to be pretending to watch, but she knew it had a scheduled running time of two hours and thirty-five minutes. Surreptitiously she checked her illicit cell phone, banned because Aram had said something about it interfering with the radio signal of the microphone hidden somewhere in her dress. She was pretty sure the interference thing was bogus and was only revenge for a prank she had pulled on the last stakeout, but the rest of the team had taken it like gospel. They were now forty-eight minutes into the show.

"Kill me," she muttered to the man in the next seat.

"Shut up, Davidson," Agent Ressler replied in an equally low and miserable voice. "You're just making it worse."

She wrapped her arms around her chest in frustration. "He's not here!" she couldn't resist adding in a petulant tone. Her partner didn't bother to acknowledge the truthfulness of her remark, mindful of their coworkers listening in via their microphones. "What language are they singing, anyway?" Elenna mumbled.

"German. I've told you twice."

"I speak German. That's not German," she argued just for the sake of anything to stave off boredom. She was rewarded by several offended hushes from the patrons behind her. Agent Davidson rolled her eyes but obediently fell mute. She tried a mental distraction, estimating when ten minutes had passed then checking her guess with her phone.

Only seven minutes had passed, but something surprising caught her eye. "Fuck!" she muttered. Now not only the people around shushed her, but the voice in her earpiece was indignant too. So was Ressler when he saw what she was looking at.

"How did you manage to hide that?" he demanded incredulously and with some envy when he saw her phone.

"PG rated pat-downs by the boys," she replied absent-mindedly. She ignored the offended protest in her ear to review the newly arrived text. Nick's Pizza had changed to Jay's Subs but the sender's identity was easy enough to guess. "Ugh, its my ex," she explained for the benefit of their audience. "He's asking if I want to meet up with him for a cheesesteak. Can you imagine? I swear he thinks I'm at the mall in Allentown."

Ressler immediately understood the reference to their previous meeting with their ex-teammate. As lead agent, he made a quick decision. "I say this was a false lead," he whispered into his own microphone. "We're pulling out. I'll take the heat from Cooper. C'mon," he tugged at his partner's sleeve. To the immense relief of their neighbors they excused themselves down the busy row towards the aisle and out of the theater.

Once in the empty lobby Elenna heaved a heavy sigh of relief. "If I ever see that bastard again I'm going to kick his ass for just being the kind of guy that might conceivably go to the opera," she announced. She pulled at the top of her dress to fan herself. The green velvet gown had seemed a winner in the shop's changing room mirror, but had quickly become damp and clingy in the overheated, humid theater.

"There's a number of people ahead of you in that ass-kicking line," Don replied absently. He had already barked orders for the van to pull up stakes and meet them outside of the main entrance. Both paused outside the entrance to the grand hall to enjoy the sudden blast of cool autumn air. The voice in their ears advised them to turn left and follow the maintenance walkway to find the surveillance van waiting nearby. Normally Agent Ressler was a stickler for protocol, but with the three-day Columbus Day weekend looming, all of the members of the team were anxious to go, and he was in a hurry himself to see Liz's message. So he trusted his accumulated goodwill with his boss would cover for the shortcuts he allowed tonight. Within a half-hour their business was done and the van on the way back to the Post Office.

He had ridden to the concert hall with Agent Davidson as part of their undercover routine. They plodded through the lines of dark four-door luxury sedans, seeking her silver Mustang in the ranks. She dug her keys out of her impossibly tiny evening purse and beeped open the car. To her chagrin, he immediately claimed driver's seat.  "You can't work the pedals in those heels," was his rationale.

"It would shock you what I can do in these heels, Donny," she retorted with a wink as she climbed in the passenger side. He merely raised one eyebrow in response. She used the moment of his direct attention to gently touch her ear. Ever since Liz's departure they had assumed their vehicles were bugged by the most suspicious factions within the agency. Red's warning about other observers had become a constant tiny refrain in the back of her head as well.

"You know what, I'm starving. Let's grab something on the way back to the office."

"You got me in the mood for a cheesesteak," Ressler admitted as he pulled his tuxedo tie off and tossed it into the back of the car.

"There are no good cheesesteaks available outside of eastern Pennsylvania," his partner informed him. "Hit a drive-thru burger place. Better yet, park and we can go in. I don't want to dump ketchup all over my new dress courtesy of the crappy condition of these roads."

"You look good," he said unexpectedly. He kept his eyes on the view outside his windshield. She snorted in derision to hide the sudden flush of color to her cheeks, then turned up the radio to drown out any further attempts at conversation. He pulled into the first burger chain location on the right side of the road. Surprisingly without comment on his choice of destination, she gathered up the skirts of her elegant gown to pull herself out of the low slung seats of her car and stomp off into the burger shop, ignoring the glazed or bewildered expressions of the other patrons to secure a place in the order line.

Ressler followed a few steps behind, catching up with her in time to give his share of the order. As he paid she wandered off to claim the most isolated empty booth. She oohed happily as he delivered the tray heaped with greasy burgers and fries.

"You are a cheap date, Agent Davidson," he announced in wonder as she grabbed double handfuls of fries.

"Cheap but not easy, Agent Ressler," she replied with good humor. "I'm starved. With all of those stupid planning meetings I never had a chance to get out of the office today for lunch." She glanced around at her brightly lit, cheap plastic surroundings and shrugged. "At least we can talk freely here. I'm pretty sure even Reddington has never planted a bug in a White Castle."

He shrugged. "There's a story to tell you later. Was that text from Liz? What did she say?"

Elenna's eyes twinkled as she remembered her news. "We're on a flight to Las Vegas tomorrow morning out of Reagan. She booked us rooms at that hot new resort they've been advertising so much that sounds so incredibly decadent and way out of my budget."

"Hmm... long weekend, we don't even have to run a story past Cooper," Ressler really liked that part. He trusted his boss completely and wanted to deserve his continued trust as well, but it had been an explicit part of their understanding that no one else should know about their continued relationship with Liz and Red.

"Vegas, baby!" Elenna crooned, waiving her soda in triumph. "Finally a little getaway from the day to day."

"I wouldn't get too excited," he advised. "It's Reddington. You know this is going to get dirty."

"Well, that's the fun part," she answered with a grin. "We get to mess up some bad guys and then go catch a show. At least we're going to see Liz again. I know you'll be glad to see her." Across the top of her burger, her eyes locked on to his to catch his reaction to her jibe.

He flushed slightly at her words. "I've been worried about her, if that's what you mean," he answered with his trademark stoicism. "You know Reddington went right back to his usual criminal dealings as soon as they were gone."

"Yep, I think about that too," she admitted. She poked a fry into the last dredges of ketchup. "But I think he cares enough about Liz to try to keep her safe."

Ressler made a face caught between scorn and surprise. "You're defending Reddington?"

"Yeah, I know. I shock myself by saying this, but I do think he has some good intentions." Davidson kept talking as her partner's expression grew even more incredulous. "Hey, I'm not starting up a fan club, but I'm willing to give him enough benefit of the doubt to hear what he has to say tomorrow. He did help us put a couple of bad puppies in jail, remember?"

"He used us to weed out some of his competitors." He frowned as her face darkened. "Okay, I'll listen to him nicely, but I'm only going so I can see Keen and make sure she's okay."

"I'm with you on that, partner.  Any bad guys taken down will be viewed as bonus points."

The ride back to the office parking garage was quiet with both lost in their own private thoughts. Ressler pulled the Mustang up next to his own car before turning off the engine and handing the keys to their owner. "I'll pick you up at your place tomorrow at 7. I know you don't want to leave the Pony in long term parking." He climbed out of the car as she exited her side to come around to take over the driver's seat.

As he pulled out of the parking spot, he realized she had her window down and was waiting to speak to him. "Pack some date clothes," she ordered. "You're taking me out to see at least one show while we're in town. I really love magic shows, but Cirque de Soleil is cool too. But swear to me there will be absolutely no Celine or I will use excessive force."

He forced his lips to stop creeping into a smile. "This is a work trip, Agent Davidson."

"All work and no play makes Agent Ressler a dull boy. See you in the morning."

 

 

"Has their flight landed yet, Lizzie?" She sheepishly nodded as Raymond caught her checking her phone yet again. She felt like a little girl on the morning of her birthday party, anxiously waiting for the first of her guests to arrive. For the last fifteen minutes she had been at the large front window, pretending to enjoy the panoramic view but really looking for a car to pull up into the driveway of the safe house.

Raymond came up behind her, wrapping his arms around her while dropping a kiss on the crown of her head. "I'm sure they're excited to see you as well, sweetheart." They had arrived in the private jet early that morning into the municipal airport and driven directly out of the city to their safe house for the night. She had been slightly disappointed they weren't staying directly on the Strip - she had never visited Vegas before. But the safe house was lovely. Usually Raymond picked more traditionally styled homes, but this one was a bright airy modern, furnished simply with local artisan works. Raymond had disappeared shortly after arrival for a business meeting. He had returned a just few minutes previously as their guests' expected arrival time drew closer. She still knew nothing about the reason for bringing her partners out to Nevada; Raymond had asked that she wait to hear the story with them.

Dembe appeared in the doorway, smiling as she spun around in anticipation. "Your guests have arrived," he announced, and stepped out of the way as Agents Davidson and Ressler crossed through the doorway.

"Hey stranger!" Elenna squealed. She hugged her friend fiercely, then pulled away to take an appraising look. Liz had picked up on some of the traits of her traveling companion. Compared to Elenna's comfortable jeans and camisole, Liz wore a pair of professionally-tailored white slacks and an exquisitely embroidered blouse she had picked up in Vienna. She had a new hairstyle as well that aged her a little, but her smile was warm and genuine.

 Liz turned to her other ex-partner, who after sharing a brief glance with the other man in the room only offered his hand in greeting. "It's good to see you, Keen," Ressler said.

"How was your flight?" Reddington eased into the conversation with a drink in hand for each of the arrivals. He was in one of his familiar vest and dress shirt combinations, but he had taken to wearing dark-rimmed glasses that took ten years off his appearance.  He wrapped an arm around Liz's waist as he waited for either agent to reply.

"Why are we here?" Davidson replied bluntly.

"Right to business, I see. Just like in the old days, but without the physical restraints or legal mumbo-jumbo that grew so tiresome. Come, have a seat and I will fill all of you in on the details." They returned to the pair of facing sofas, agents on one side and fugitives on the other.

Red made a production of setting down his glass and looking at each of them with a air of nostalgia. "Strange, isn't it? I almost miss the old Post Office and all of those video screens and exciting new technology. All of that purposeful energy... but those days are gone now, I suppose," he finished when even Lizzie was looking at him with loving exasperation. "Two weeks ago, I was shown a video taken in the far eastern reaches of the Ukraine. It clearly showed a vehicle of some unusual design flying only several hundred feet above a field. The vehicle demonstrated some maneuvers that clearly push past the boundaries of today's technology."

"Reddington, did you fly me all the way out here coach to talk about UFOs?" As Davidson made her exclamation, Ressler studied Keen's expression. She was clearly as surprised by Red's words as their guests. She squeezed the hand that she had been inconspicuously holding during his introduction.

Red turned to her and smiled with tenderness. "Don't worry, Lizzie dear. I haven't partaken of the local new age waters." He turned back to the other agents. "If you use UFO literally as describing an unidentified flying object, yes, that is indeed what the videos featured. But I strongly suspect that the unknown owner or owners of these vehicles are human. They possess the basest of human desires, at least. These objects are being placed on the auction block next Thursday, and I suspect they will bring in vast sums of money from a purchaser with less than noble plans for their use."

"And you're one of the bidders, I suppose," Ressler surmised.

"Not personally," Red contradicted him. "I've been hired to represent someone else of substantial means and dismal intentions. I assure you that your government would be quite happy to keep these objects out of the hands of my client. I believe that by working together we can identify the seller and see if these vehicles can end up instead in the possession of someone more trustworthy."

"Like you?" Davidson snapped.

"I admit these vehicles looked like they'd offer quite a fun ride," Red answered evenly, "But I just purchased a new jet recently and I don't feel any need to replace it. I have just obtained a copy of the video this morning. I believe that by quietly showing these images to the right people, we will be able to ascertain which entity was responsible for building these vehicles and thus who is conducting the auction."

"So why involve us?" Ressler asked. "Couldn't your own people do that?"

"First, because it is always pleasant to visit with you, Agent Ressler. But in addition, there are two types of individuals that have the near encyclopedic knowledge of aeronautical design that would be needed to identify the builder. The first are certain current and previous employees of the military/industrial complex. They would be much more willing to speak with fine upstanding FBI agents with high security clearance than someone of my shady reputation. I've been able to come up with several names of individuals who should be quite helpful. Lizzie dear, you should work with Agents Davidson and Ressler on this. If you don't have your old ID badge with you, I can have another one made that would clear a background check."

"I still have my credentials," Liz acknowledged, and added with some curiosity, "What about the other type of individuals?"

He shrugged. "Individuals of the other type will find my renegade status a sign of trustworthiness. They don't hold much faith in the federal government, or really any official organization, but they'll talk freely with me."

Elenna grinned widely. 'You mean the alien conspiracy wackos, don't you?"

Red pursed his lips. "Really, Agent Davidson, you shouldn't use such derogatory terms to describe some very lovely people with a few unusual beliefs. Some ufologists become experts in aviation technology so that they can help in identifying recognizably human objects in reported sightings. I've already arranged a meeting tomorrow morning in Roswell with a dear old friend that I believe will be quite helpful."

"Raymond, can I have the list of people we should contact?" Lizzie asked.

"Dembe has the names and contact information as well as your copy of the video. I advise extreme discretion in your approach. All of them share a place of employment well-known for its earnest desire for secrecy."

"They work at Area 51?" Ressler was slightly amused. "Are they aliens?"

Red heaved a tolerant sigh. "Agent Ressler, the whole alien mythology was an invention created to divert attention away from the truly interesting programs underway onsite. Be careful what questions you ask these workers, because nosy investigators have been known to simply disappear." 


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The agents start their investigation in Vegas.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello again! Another Thursday, another chapter!
> 
> I want to take a moment and thank everyone who has sent kudos and comments on the story - they are very appreciated!! I still do the "Back in Black" dance for each one!

"Well, what an awesome visit to Sin City this turned out to be," Elenna huffed as she plunked down on the sofa.

Liz shrugged ruefully as she settled into the neighboring chair. They had split Red's list of sources with Ressler several hours ago, and agreed to meet up again in their hotel suite before dinner to discuss their findings.  A big part of her had been happy to get back into the swing of investigative work again. The routine of it had come back quickly; she had always been good at sensing the moments when an interviewee was holding something back and teasing it out of them gently. That had been a useful skill today. For such a strange topic, she had been struck over and over how genuinely frightened the men they interviewed today had been. No one would give their real name or the name of their employers, and each engineer had insisted on rendezvous in obscure bars and empty warehouses across the city.  Two clammed up as soon as they saw the video of the vehicle in question and walked away without another word.  In several cases Davidson had to bluster about prosecution before getting any kind of response.  Honestly, it had reminded her of interviewing Berlin's people back in her days on the task force.  

"Do you want a drink?" Liz asked her partner as she rose again wearily to her feet. The suite had a well stocked bar tucked into the corner of the spacious attractive common room. She glanced out the balcony as she passed by to see the famous neon lights were already glowing down on the Strip below. Downstairs they had passed by the entrance to the casino wing. Even though it was still late afternoon the halls had been filled with people dressed in their finest for a glamorous evening of fine dining, gambling and shows.  It seemed like a really nice hotel; she relieved her guilt by promising herself to arrange a work-free visit in the future for her friends.

"You know, I think I need a drink after those conversations," Agent Davidson decided. "If you don't mind, I'd really like to hold off discussing what we were just told until we hear what the boys have learned. God willing, they heard something much less stress-inducing."

"I'm with you on that," Liz agreed immediately. She popped open a bottle of quality merlot and poured generous glassfuls for the both of them. "Ressler should be here soon. He was scheduled to meet with the last name on his list over two hours ago."

"I'm completely flummoxed. I can't imagine what he's thinking if he got the same story we did." Agent Davidson admitted with disbelief as she accepted her glass. Then she shook her head firmly. "No, I'm not thinking about this again until tomorrow. Nope, we're taking some time for some happy girl talk. Lizzie, it is so good to see you again!" She reached over with both arms to offer her friend a hug.

Liz returned her embrace with feeling. "I missed you, El," she exclaimed fiercely. "Its been two months already. I can't believe it! How are things going at the office?"

Agent Davidson hmmphed and grinned. "It rained internal reviews for a while, Cooper went through copious amounts of headache meds, and Aram worked miracles covering your tracks."

"I'm sorry I put you and the rest of the task force through this," Liz lowered her gaze to her glass. The guilt had tugged at the corners of her attention at random times after her sudden departure. As much as she didn't want to acknowledge it, the rational parts of her mind admonished sometimes that she had left a stinking mess behind for her friends to clean up. She argued with herself that she hadn't left for purely selfish reasons; she was protecting Raymond and his secrets, and in a way she was keeping the task force safe, too. But there was no way to tell her friends that she had left for any reason other than her own desire to be with the man she had rather stupidly fallen in love.

Elenna's overall expression remained friendly, but the corners of her lips twitched slightly downward as her friend spoke. "Its all good, Lizzie. All that matters to us is that you're okay."

Liz paused for a moment. "I'm much better than okay, El," she said finally. "We're really happy together, even with all of the ... challenges of living as we do."

"I can imagine the challenges have been difficult," her friend replied with a shake of her head. "Where have you been? If he followed his usual escape plan, you've put some miles on that jet."

"We've covered some ground," Liz shrugged. "Here and there. Mostly Europe and Asia. This is my first trip back to the U.S." Her eyes fell again to her now empty glass when she suddenly fell silent. There was so many things she had seen and done that she wanted to talk about. in her giddy excitement she wanted to tell her friend all about Stevonia and the Abbey. But she realized with wistfulness, those places needed to remain secrets in order to remain safe havens for her and Raymond in the future. She felt a sudden welling of pity for Raymond, who had to have felt so isolated during all those years he had traveled alone.

Elenna tossed back the last of her glass and rose up from her seat to fetch a refill, grabbing her friend's glass as well as she passed by. With the safety of distance she called over her shoulder, "Its okay, Liz. I already assumed he wouldn't want you to share any potentially useful details with me or Res."

"I'm sorry," Liz said again with meaning. "Its not that he doesn't trust you..."

"Reddington's too smart to trust anyone," Davidson answered back without thought. And added quickly, "I mean he's going to do everything he can to keep you safe, Lizzie, and I don't fault him for that. Its obvious he cares about you and he's going to be extremely cautious about any unnecessary risks. I'll take it as a compliment that he brought us together for this visit."

"He respects you, Elenna," Liz smiled at the thought. They had talked often about the task force members. "I think you and Res were his favorite agents from all of the task forces over the years."

"No, Liz, I'm pretty sure you were his favorite," her friend corrected her with a laugh. "I like to think that I pissed him off considerably over those years on his tail."

"You two can tell each other some war stories, I'm sure," Liz took a moment to sip her wine and let her mind wander back again over their travels. "I don't think I've ever been this happy before," she finally admitted. "Living with Raymond has been so wonderful, so amazing..."

Elenna's smile had frozen in place as she tried to work her mind around this new and uncomfortable image of her longtime antagonist. "I'm so glad to hear you're happy," she finally managed. "On that subject, where is your honey? Is he meeting us here as well?"

Liz shook her head. "He's having dinner with some business associates." He had insisted that she visit her old friends without him, declaring that his company would hardly be missed by Agents Ressler and Davidson. Liz didn't argue the point, but made him promise that they would meet up again in the evening before he left for his early appointment the next day.

"Business associates, huh? Here I thought the mob had left Vegas. What, is he bringing them back?" Elenna stopped when she realized the sudden hurt that flashed across her friend's expression. "I'm sorry, Lizzie. Me and my big mouth, right? I'm just not used to thinking of him in the good guy category yet."

Liz pulled her feet up on to her seat and clasped her hands around her knees. "Raymond is a good man, El. When you get to know him, you'll see that," she promised.

"I'm sure!" her friend agreed eagerly. "And I'm happy for you, really. You deserve someone wonderful." Even trying her best, Elenna couldn't get out the last word without a telltale stutter. Liz kept smiling anyway at her friend's attempts. She just had to get to know Raymond, she assured herself silently.

"I sure as hell hope you got different intel than I did!" Ressler charged through the suite doorway with a bellow of disbelief. His frustration brought them both back to their present concerns. Both had jotted down fast notes after each interviewee in their paranoia had refused to allow them to make recordings or write notes during their discussions. Both had written the same name with the same confusion and trepidation.

"I would have felt better if they would have said little green men!" Davidson called out as he raced past them to the wet bar for a beer.

"Dammit, he could have warned us we would be playing ball in this league," Ressler's expression had taken on a cast that neither of his task force partners had seen very often before. His concern was now perilously close to crossing the borderline into nervousness. Each of his interviews had grown tenser throughout the day as he slowly finagled the same name from each of the frightened engineers. "Did Reddington already know who was behind this deal?" He demanded from Liz.

She shook her head with fervent denial. "He didn't know or he wouldn't have involved you or me. He suspected the vehicles were stolen, and someone high in the military was making the arrangements."

"Its a problem for tomorrow," Elenna said, and gently tilted her head towards the ceiling as a hint. Liz took the cue immediately; Raymond had warned her that while out of their usual safe places, she should always assume she was bugged and not always by their own people.

Ressler frowned even deeper at the thought of listening devices but took her advice. "Let's get some dinner," he said with some attempt at enthusiasm.

Elenna jumped on the change in tone. "Good idea. Let's change out of our stodgy agent clothes and into something much more party. Right, Donny?"

He loosened his tie slightly in response. "These are my fun clothes."

Elenna rolled her eyes. "Sadly, I think that's true. Liz? You want to change?"

"I had an outfit delivered from the house to the hotel earlier today."

They split up to ready themselves physically and mentally for a change in venue. They decided to stay in the hotel or within walking distance from their rooms, with the assumption that none of them should plan on driving that evening. The hotel featured an excellent restaurant with an extensive waiting list. Liz had learned from Raymond's patient instruction the art of bribing the host, and managed to pull off a great table with a view of the excitement of the lobby and casino. They kept the conversation light by ignoring the future and instead retelling old stories and gossip from their days in the Post Office, mixed in with observations of the crowds.

After the meal they decided to take a walk along the Strip to check out some of the smaller clubs. After a couple of refreshments at these stops the huge casinos were tempting, until Liz reminded them with some disappointment that she wouldn't be able to enter with them.

"All of the casinos have facial recognition programs linked to VICAP," she explained with some embarrassment. "I'll produce the kind of bells and whistles you don't want to hear in a gambling hall."

"That would suck," Elenna agreed. "Come on, this place has karaoke. I'm about to rock your world."

 

 

 

For the next several hours they had the good time each had hoped for when they had started the evening. Until Liz's phone rang and she excused herself to step outside to take the call. When she had hung up she realized Ressler was hanging conspicuously nearby. As he approached he stumbled slightly.

"Time to cut you off, Res," she joked lightly. "Raymond's sending a car to pick us up so we don't have to carry you back to the hotel."

"Liz," he breathed deeply with depths of unexpected emotion. "I want to talk to you."

"We never did get a chance to have that talk, did we?" she squared her shoulders. "Come on, let's find a quiet spot." Across the street was a little coffee shop, still empty in the several hours before the sudden late night rush of partiers trying to sober up from their revels. They chose a table by the front window, in view of the street so they could watch for both Davidson and the arriving car.

"How are you, Keen?" Ressler asked. His cheeks were still slightly flushed from the alcohol, but his eyes were steady and focused on her.

She shrugged and smiled. "I don't hear that name too often anymore. I'm doing fine, Res. I'm happy."

"You don't have to put on a brave face for me, Keen. You can be honest."

She reached out to clasp the hand he had wrapped around his cup. "I am being honest, I promise. I'm really happy. Well, I admit it would be better if everyone stopped hunting for us, but I know you can't do anything about that."

"Liz, if you want to come back I can make that happen for you." He leveled his gaze on her eyes, which were now widened in surprise at his vehemence. "I can keep you safe if you want to come home again."

She bit her lip, thinking through her words carefully before speaking. "Don, I appreciate the good intentions in your offer, but I don't want to leave Raymond."

He shook his head vehemently. "Liz, you can't stay with him. You don't know how dangerous he can be. Let me get you somewhere safe right now. Please." He took her hand tightly between both of his.

Now her eyes narrowed. "Let me go, Ressler. You've been drinking..."

"Liz, do you know what happened to his wife? Has he given you any kind of story about that night?" He hunched over the table, still gripping her hand as she tried to wriggle free of his grasp.

Liz straightened up in response. "You don't know anything, either. No one witnessed the murders, and no one was ever linked by any evidence to the crime. Raymond never even entered the house that night; he was already on the run by then."

Ressler paused for one last chance to stop himself from spilling the truth. Then he heaved a sigh and admitted, "Tory Reddington survived, their daughter didn't. She went into Witness Protection the next day in exchange for her testimony."

Liz yanked her hand away roughly and slid out of the booth. "Why didn't you ever tell me this before?" she exclaimed furiously.

He blinked in surprise that the blame was somehow falling on him for this. "No one could tell you because you didn't have the necessary security clearance. Sit down, Liz. You may as well hear it all now." He waited until she had retaken her seat. "Red double-crossed the wrong people in a deal that went sideways, and his family was attacked as retribution. He was selling secrets long before he left, Keen. His wife confirmed this."

"That's not true," she exclaimed automatically. "He was set up."

He grimaced slightly at the hackneyed old excuse. "Have you seen proof of that, or did you just take his word for it? You were a good agent, Liz. I know its hard when there's feelings involved, but you have to keep your head in the game and think this through."

"The proof exists, I know that," she insisted. "Ressler, you tell me I was a good agent, so trust me enough to believe that I did what I needed to do to prove to myself he's telling me the truth." She glanced around the sleepy little coffee shop, half-convinced that all of the quiet customers were Raymond's enemies just waiting for her to say the wrong words. "Trust me that there's a lot more to this story than what you know, and he has very good reasons to keep his secrets to himself."

"You said that before, Liz, that there are things I don't know. Well, tell me these things so I can help you."

"No, Res," she shook her head. "I can't. These are the kind of secrets that make you have to spend the rest of your life on the run. You have to trust us."

"Don't ask me to trust Reddington, because I never will," Ressler snapped. Silence fell for several moments as he visibly tried to contain his temper. "Liz, I don't want what happened to his family to happen to you, too."

"I'm a big girl, Don. I can protect myself," Liz insisted firmly.

"I know, Liz. But that doesn't mean I stop worrying about you."

His phone suddenly sang out a recognizable tune that caused Liz to break out in surprised tension-relieving giggles. "Call Me Maybe?"

"That's Davidson. Somehow she got into my phone and changed all of my ringtones to crappy pop tunes. She's wondering where we are."

"Text her that our ride back to the hotel is on the way. Is here, actually," she said, checking her own phone quickly before stowing it away again. "Res, you know Raymond cares about me, and he won't do anything that could put me in danger."

"He's not the only one who cares about you," her ex-partner replied with his eyes locked on the car pulling up outside. "I'm here whenever you need me, Liz. Don't forget that."

 

 

There was nothing less appealing than leaving behind a sleeping Lizzie, Raymond mused with some amusement and more irritation. She was nestled contentedly into the crook of his arm, with tufts of hair tickling the sensitive skin underneath. He kissed her cheek gently, murmured an apology, and gently released his arm from her sleepy weight. She curled into the warm area of the mattress he abandoned to dress quietly in the darkness of the bedroom. He had not told her of his plans; if she woke she would hopefully assume he had only gone downstairs for a drink or his usual midnight raid on the fridge.

Dembe had arrived earlier that afternoon to reassume his usual duties. He was waiting for his friend downstairs in the kitchen. Red pulled on his jacket and nodded at his friend's questioning expression. Without a word Dembe put down his cup of coffee and led him out to the car that he already moved out to the street, where the sound and lights would hopefully not waken Liz.

The drive to the Strip only took a couple of silent minutes. They pulled up in front of the same club Liz had visited earlier that evening with her companions. It had grown much busier as the evening progressed; now there was a line outside waiting for entrance. Dembe waited at the car as Red smoothly approached the bouncer. With a subtle exchange of folded cash and greetings Red was welcomed inside, to the loud vocal disapproval of those still stuck in line. The inside was dark and rank with the smell of old sweat and cheap liquor. Red hated clubs in general, but it had been an easy enough landmark for them to arrange their meeting. Elenna was at the end of the bar, nursing a nearly empty drink and observing the crowded dance floor.

When she saw him approach she motioned with her glass. "Hey sailor, new in town?" she greeted with a scowl.

"Do you have what I asked you to find?" he demanded.

"I can tell you what you asked for. I wasn't going to put anything down on paper as evidence of me selling my soul to the devil."

"Well? I'd like to get back to Lizzie as soon as possible, and wouldn't you have somewhere you'd rather be than this seedy little bar?"

"Let's go somewhere I can hear myself think," was her reply. He motioned to the front of the club. The bouncer raised his eyebrows at the recent arrival's quick acquisition but said nothing as they passed him by. Dembe had moved the car to an open space half a block away.

"Hey Dembe, can you do a cruise up and down the Strip? Since its my only chance to see the sights on this visit." Elenna settled into her seat against the window to enjoy the display of lights and activity outside the mirrored glass of the car window. "I'm not going to risk staying in town more than one night since I heard a particular name mentioned repeatedly today. I'm not particularly thrilled to get thrown onto his bad side, Red."

"I am surprised to find his name linked with this sale," Red admitted. "I want to talk to my source tomorrow before we draw any conclusions."

She answered with disdain, "Let's conclude our business. The man you were seeking now goes by the name Martin Fletcher. Last known address was two years ago in San Francisco. The answer to the paternity question is yes, those two DNA sources are father/daughter. And that was apparently not the answer you wanted to hear."

"I was hoping someone had lied to me, yes." So Fitch had told him the truth during their meeting in DC. That nightmare had come back to life again.

From the fury and frustration playing across his face, it wasn't hard to make the leap to determine whose parent they were discussing. "Liz's genetic father is alive and a big problem?" Elenna confirmed her guess. Liz had often talked with fondness about her adaptive father, but said nothing about her birth parents and claimed to have no memories of them at all. When he had turned himself in and announced he would only speak with Elizabeth Keen, obvious suspicions were raised about Reddington's reasons for singling her out. But before the end of their first case, DNA testing arranged by Cooper had already eliminated the possibility of a genetic relationship between them. After that, her parentage no longer held interest for the task force and the topic was dropped.

"If he finds her, he will hurt her, painfully and repeatedly. I intend to find him and kill him before this can happen. But in case I fail at this, Agent Davidson, I need something else from you." He grimaced involuntarily. The words 'I need' rarely ever crossed Reddington's lips, and he certainly didn't want to have to use them on the thin-lipped angry agent now facing him with arms crossed and impatient. "I already have several contingency plans for Lizzie in place if something unfortunate should happen to me. I need you to create one more; I need for you to devise a plan in which you can make Lizzie quickly and effectively disappear without any help from me or my people. I understand this may take some time to bring about, but for her sake I urge you to please give this your best effort."

"For her sake I will," she agreed readily. "After you agree that you will regularly update me on the efforts to locate this man and any other information I may find I need."

"If you promise not to speak about this with Agent Ressler or anyone else. This man has ears everywhere, Agent Davidson. You can't trust any person outside of this car."

"I don't trust any person inside this car. No offense meant, Dembe. Drop me near the hotel, please." She jumped stilettos first in her haste to get out of the car.

He leaned out of the open door to call after her, ignoring the grins of passersby that had jumped to lewd conclusions about their dealings. "Lizzie will call you tomorrow morning with the location to meet. I fervently hope that your people's information was wrong, and we will not be in the very unfortunate position of having to anger Mr. Price."


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Red and the agents learn more about the mysterious vehicles.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy holidays, everyone!  
> I'll post Chapter 7 a week from this coming Tuesday.  
> Again, thanks for all of the lovely comments and kudos!  
> Just to confirm:
> 
> Things that are mine: 83 tomato seedlings, a cat named Garrick, William Price and Elenna Davidson
> 
> Things that aren't mine: peace and quiet, Raymond Reddington, Elizabeth Keen, and Donald Ressler.
> 
> I hope you enjoy the chapter!

Originally Agents Davidson and Ressler had planned on remaining with Liz in Las Vegas while Red flew out to visit with his source in Roswell. But when the name Mr. Price became attached to their new case, all four felt it would be best to stay on the move, so all four hopped on the jet early that morning for a flight to New Mexico. On arrival Dembe acquired two rental cars; one for him and Red for the drive into the desert to the source's home, and the other for the agents' use. Red promised to call with news as soon as his meeting was ended. After checking out the local supply of hotels, Liz determined that she and her companion would likely fly out that evening instead of remaining in town for the night. The agents booked themselves rooms at the first bland chain hotel they could find, and after dropping off their bags in their rooms reassembled in the lobby to make plans for the next few hours. 

"Well, this is sad," Elenna announced sullenly, after poking her way through the display of local brochures. "Not much around here to do if you're not an alien freak."

"You have some feelings on that topic, El," Liz was amused, as she secretly agreed with her friend about the locale.

Davidson shrugged. "I'm so over the whole alien thing. I'm a red-headed FBI agent, and I worked in the J. Edgar Hoover building for two years - you know, where a certain TV show was set. It was such a pain in the ass. Everyone including the SAC called me Scully, and I got stuck hearing everybody's weird little stories about lights in the sky and whatnot. Let's go get some lunch."

There was an adequate restaurant attached to their hotel, but they decided instead to get in the car and explore for a while before eating. Despite its reputation, the town itself looked a nice normal American town, if you pretended you didn't see the advertisements for the tourist sites. They were in luck with timing; they found a cute little diner during the sweet spot between the early and late church crowds. They were able to be seated immediately and enjoy attentive service before the hectic brunch crowds swarmed the front doors.

Liz glanced out the window, and smiled in amusement at the big green cartoon alien advertising a gift shop across the street. It brought her back to their earlier conversation. "So I guess Elenna is a sceptic. What about you, Don?"

"Not something I've spent time thinking about." he retorted. "But in general I don't hold much stock in massive conspiracy theories. We have a hell of a time keeping Red secret, I couldn't imagine the government hiding something on that scale for long."

Both women agreed immediately. The efforts needed to keep their small black site functioning were astounding and involved some of the biggest political players in the country; they couldn't imagine what it would take to maintain major operations such as the ones conspiracy theorists regularly described. They lingered over their meal, chatting amiably about light matters, before deciding to move back to their hotel to continue their wait for contact from Red. As Liz went to pay their bill and Davidson gulped down the last of her coffee, Ressler decided to take a moment to ask her the question that had been on his mind all morning.

"Where did you go last night?" he asked with what he thought was a deceptive casual tone. She furled her eyebrows in response. 

"Out and about. I wanted to see the sights." Her lips pursed into a half smile. "Did you miss me?"

"Why did you go alone?" Unseen, Liz had returned to the table in time to catch the conversation. She held back, unwilling to interrupt their discussion. 

Elenna had turned defensive. "What, do I have to check in and out with you now? I couldn't sleep, so I just visited the Strip and had a couple of drinks. I thought you were turned in for the night so I didn't bother you." They both noted Liz's return and dropped the topic. She pretended she hadn't noticed their disagreement and made light comments on possible activities for the afternoon.

As they were climbing back into the rental car Liz's phone rang several hours before expected. 

She frowned. Changes in schedule were rarely good. She pulled her mobile out of her purse and held it to her ear. She didn't offer a greeting but waited for the voice on the other end to speak first.

"Lizzie, where are you?" Raymond demanded, and didn't bother to wait for a response. "Get the others and immediately leave town. We'll shortly send you a location to find me but you should start on the highway heading east."

"Are you safe?" she demanded, causing both of her companions to freeze up with concern.

"For now, sweetheart, but we need to talk about our next steps. I'm afraid I didn't know what I was bringing you into with this... hurry, Lizzie. I'll see you soon." He disconnected the line before she could reply. She raised her eyes again to her companions. "Take the highway east out of town," she ordered. 

Ressler took over driving as Davidson worked the GPS for the best way to quickly pick up highway 380. Picking up on Liz's upset, they remained silent until they had left the last vestiges of the town behind and were crossing open desert. "What happened?" he asked finally.

"I don't know, but I don't think things are going as well as we had hoped," Liz answered. Her phone beeped again, this time signaling an incoming text. She glanced at the screen, then entered the address in the GPS, and was rewarded with a small dot in the middle of a blank screen.

Ressler checked out the screen with a frown. "Is there even a road leading to that location?"

"Um... yes, I think ... yes, its actually its at an intersection of a couple small roads. You're going to turn off the main road in a few miles."

"To never be seen or heard from again," Davidson interjected from the backseat. 

Liz was silent for a long moment. "I'm sorry," she said finally. "This case was supposed to be an excuse for a fun weekend in Vegas."

"That's how these things always start out," Davidson replied calmly, then prompted, "I'm guessing he learned something interesting?"

"Along with the address," Liz admitted with some trepidation, "he included the name Price."

Their turn was on to a dusty strip of what had been pavement maybe in the Reagan years. Now it was just a series of potholes and cracks stretching towards the horizon, wreaking havoc on their rental SUV. The bland desert scenery and silence from the other riders unfortunately couldn't distract anyone from ruminating on that name. William Price was the wealthiest man in the world, and probably the least understood. His company had shot up from obscurity to dominance within a decade as he introduced bold new designs for both commercial and military aviation. As his company grew he became famous, and bewildering as the press dug deep into his life and found absolutely nothing. He was an orphan with no siblings. He spent his childhood in a small orphanage whose records had been destroyed by an accidental fire after his departure. No childhood friends came out of the woodwork to claim their moments of fame discussing their relationship with a young William. He obtained his undergraduate and master degrees from the University of Chicago with plenty of physical and computer records to confirm this, but with no personal recollections by any student or faculty member. He never married, never dated, and as far as the paparazzi could tell, never even had personal guests visit at his reclusive ranch outside of Denver, Colorado. Workers at the company always reported that he was a good boss, but quiet and always focused on work. He never donated to political causes and avoided all personal interactions with politicians whenever possible. 

The tranquil surface of his life hid depths that few were brave or foolish enough to investigate. Four separate lawsuits against him ended when the plaintiffs simply disappeared without a trace. All of his competitors quickly gave up on sending corporate spies when all of them vanished without ever filing a report. A number of EPA agents went missing, as well as the local congressman who had asked for the agency to investigate allegations of strange emissions flowing out of Price's manufacturing plant. He had maintained a private strip of land far out of the local flight paths to test his new designs. Several drug runners that crossed over Price's airspace never made it to their destinations. When the regional drug lord announced his plans for revenge over the expensive loss, he and his entire operation were eliminated within a week. Soon after a local news organization lost a helicopter and several reporters within that airspace. Afterwards Mr. Price shut down that airfield to move testing operations to an undisclosed new location. 

After an hour of monotonous driving there was still no building in sight, just endless miles of sand and sky in each direction. Just when Liz was about to give up and dial Dembe, a series of buildings suddenly popped up in view. An old faded highway sign announced they had arrived in Vesuvius, New Mexico, population 28. An unneeded blinking red light swung over an intersection with an even more decrepit road. Three buildings each took a corner, with the fourth an empty parking lot. Two of the buildings hadn't been occupied for a very long time. The third showed signs of recent human visitation; the sign out front was glowing underneath layers of dust and other grime. From inside they could hear faint strains of a worn out seventies jukebox tune.

"Neon Cowboy," Ressler read from the sign. "Yee haw, partners." He pulled in behind the building and took the last spot in the tiny parking lot between a pair of faded red pickup trucks.

Elenna huffed as she eased out of the SUV, trying to avoid scraping against the dusty neighboring vehicle. "I really don't know how he finds these places." 

"That's Dembe's job," Liz offered brightly as she exited. "Let's go inside."

The contrast between the bright noon sun and the cavelike bar caused all three to freeze in the doorway, as the residents shielded their eyes against the sudden light. Then a familiar laugh let them relax, step forward and let the doors swing shut behind them.

"Welcome, my friends." Red greeted warmly. As their eyes adjusted they realized he wasn't alone at his small table in the corner. With him was an enormous rotund man with nervous eyes behind thick metal framed glasses. He wore a scraggly goatee that struggled to cover his multiple chins, and a ragged concert t-shirt from a band no one recognized. 

Red rose to his feet to grab Liz's hands and pull her close for a lingering kiss in greeting. Ressler coughed as he turned away to face the bartender, who was studiously ignoring his only customers. Elenna had settled for pretending to examine the jukebox nearby.

Red pulled away reluctantly. "Lizzie, let me introduce you to Jack," he said, as he settled for wrapping an arm around her shoulder. "Captain Jack has been a good friend and ally for many years." He followed Jack's nervous gaze to the agents hovering a few feet away. "Those are the people I told you about. Dan, Eleanor, come over and say hello," Red urged. They offered polite greetings as they pulled up chairs around the small table. "I told Jack how you came to me for help with the footage of those ships."

"Yeah, I really wanted to know what those things were," Ressler picked up on his story. He gripped Elenna's hands in his suddenly with exaggerated tenderness. "Seeing that really upset my wife, didn't it, honey?"

Jack's expression grew patronizing. "Your first sighting?" he asked her gently, and Elenna forced herself to fake an earnest nod. "Yeah, that is an awesome moment, realizing we're not alone in the universe. A lot of people take it badly. But those ships were products of Earth."

"Really?" Ressler managed to sound surprised. 

Jack nodded. "But the good news is that you managed to videotape the Holy Grail of terrestrial sightings. Everyone's been searching for this particular model."

"Why?" Ressler encouraged him to continue. Jack glanced to Red.

"Tell him everything, Jack." Red took another sip of his drink as Jack continued on with his story.

"This ship design is magnitudes more advanced than anything else flying today. It does things no other human-made plane has done, and I still think some of the maneuvers don't seem possible at all with purely human technology. Seriously, these ships are giant leaps forward."

"And you're sure these planes belong to William Price?" Red confirmed. 

Jack nodded vigorously. "They have to be his. The only other sightings that have been documented before were out of his private airspace in Area 51."

"Area 51? Isn't that a government facility?" Elenna asked.

"Yeah, but William Price purchased a corner called S4 about ten years ago. That's where he keeps all of his newest stuff before he sells it to the government."

"So a private individual bought chunks of top secret government land? How does that happen?" Ressler asked.

Captain Jack shrugged. "Who is going to say no to William Price? Even the government is scared of him. Area 51 is practically his anyway, since he built most of the fun stuff." He drained the last of his drink and stood up. "I'll tell you the same advice I gave Red. Destroy this video and forget you ever heard any of this. I wouldn't recommend upsetting Mr. Price by outing his planes. Nice to meet you all." he finished politely. For such a large man he disappeared quickly from the bar. They waited until they heard the squeal of tires racing out of the parking lot at what seemed excessive speed.

"We should leave as well," Red had been uncharacteristically quiet the entire interview. He silently dropped a number of large bills on the table as thanks to the unobtrusive bartender and followed the others back to the SUV. He meekly accepted a place in the back row of the SUV next to Lizzie as Davidson took her turn at the wheel.

"Where are we going now?" she asked as she backed out of the lot. 

"Your hotel to pick up your belongings, then Dembe will meet you with the jet at the airport. Lizzie, you'll drop them off in DC then continue with Dembe to another location to wait for me."

"Where are you going?" Lizzie demanded.

"He gripped her hand tightly. "I just received news that our bid was accepted. Mr. Price will meet with me in person in Denver tonight to finalize the deal."


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Red meets with Mr. Price

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Last chapter of 2014! Happy New Year everyone!
> 
> There is one spoiler for season two in here - one word that popped up in the last episode aired. When I heard this word, I immediately thought of Mr. Price (well, see afterword for spoilers) and this whole story evolved from there.
> 
> I hope you enjoy, and I greatly appreciate your comments and kudos.

"Raymond, the auction wasn't scheduled to start until next week. How could your bid have already been selected?" Lizzie asked quietly. Instead of replying, he moved the hand holding hers from his lap to his lips, buying time to think with a quick set of kisses and reassuring smile.

"This was a setup from the start, Reddington," Ressler interjected over his shoulder. His attention veered quickly from the private scene in the back of the car towards Davidson. Her eyes remained locked on the empty stretch of road ahead, though her knuckles had turned white from her fierce grip on the steering wheel. She felt his attention fall on her and pursed her lips in silent frustration.

Red finally replied. "I've come to the same obvious conclusion, Agent Ressler. Since our last adventures, I've made it rather difficult to be contacted, especially by new customers. So Mr. Price has apparently arranged this whole transaction to entice me back into the open and within his reach."

"Why?" Davidson demanded.

Red shrugged. "I honestly don't know. We've never had any dealings in the past, nor do I know of any friends or enemies we have in common."

Elenna glanced over to her partner. His expression was rapidly deteriorating from exasperation into fury at the risks they had unknowingly accepted when they agreed to what was supposed to have been a friendly visit. Some of his anger was on her behalf, but she recognized where the majority of his concern was centered and she grimaced with some pity and more frustration at his stubbornness in still clinging to his slim hopes.

"Don't go to Denver, Raymond." Liz turned in her seat to face him directly. She knew her argument was useless but she couldn't help trying to talk him out of the perilous trip.

"Lizzie, I'll be perfectly fine, sweetheart." He rested a finger against her cheek and smiled tenderly. "Remember, I'm an internationally feared criminal mastermind. Even Mr. Price would pause at the potential repercussions of making someone like me disappear. Really, there is no reason for concern; I imagine he's just interesting in negotiating a deal just like any of the other thugs with whom I conduct business. And before anyone even voices the suggestion, I will not bring any of you with me to this meeting. I'm expected to arrive alone, and so I shall."

"Keen, stay with us while he goes to Denver," Ressler urged. He spoke quickly, expecting Red's protest to start up any minute and interrupt his plea. "We don't need to go back to DC. I'll call Cooper and tell him we picked up a lead and not to expect us back for a few days."

Davidson studied Red's reflection in her rearview mirror. To her surprise he was nodding with some relief. Underneath his facade of cheerful optimism, he couldn't imagine why William Price hadn't reached out to him through the usual channels and instead resorted to staging such a attention-getting display. He didn't understand Mr. Price's actions, and that caused concern. Red had learned through hard experience criminals and surprises never went well together. Until he was given ample evidence otherwise, he would assume he was flying directly into a trap of unknown purpose and thus unknown ways of talking his way out. That didn't bother Red too much; it was a common enough situation in his life. But now, it wasn't only his problem.

He bit his lip as Liz leaned against his shoulder. He had and will continue to commit a number of sins, crimes, and other heinous acts in his life, but Red drew one shining bright line in the sand; he would not ever cause Lizzie any danger that could by any means be avoided. He could send her to one of the emergency safe houses for the duration of his visit to Denver. His people were highly paid and thus loyal; they were trustworthy enough to keep her safe for a few days. He turned to observe the agents deep in discussion in the front of the car. His attention rested longest on Agent Ressler, whose anger had been uneasily squelched down for the duration of the long car ride. The agent's personal feelings for Liz were ardent and obvious despite his stoic nature. Donald would certainly provide far more fierce protection than any of his nameless employees, and with Elenna's able assistance Liz would be as safe and more comfortable with them than with strangers.

"Very well," he finally said with finality. "Do you have a location in mind?"

Davidson answered, "Sante Fe. My brother's boyfriend's parents have a condo there. Its a quick drive from here, its empty, and I know where they hide the spare key so we can avoid the B part of B&E." This settled, the group conversation transitioned into pair conversations and a number of cell phone calls setting their plans into action.

By the time the logistics were finalized, civilization was popping up again outside of their car windows. Red spotted a coffee shop alongside the road and seized the opportunity. Agent Davidson complied with his sudden demand for a stop and quick meal. His plan almost failed; it wasn't until their plates were all emptied and removed from the table that he managed to get Elenna alone for a few minutes. Ressler had volunteered to fill the gas tank while they waited for the check. When Liz stepped away from the table for a few minutes, he took his opportunity.

"Agent Davidson," he snapped without preamble, leaning across the table. "The men who have been following you, I thought they were employed by someone else, but I was informed they work directly for Berlin."

"Figures," she answered wearily. "But why just track me instead of killing me like they murdered Agent Malik?"

"They believed following you would lead directly to me." His eyes flickered across the room. "We don't have much time. Understand this, Agent Davidson, you can't let his people capture you while I'm gone, and you especially can't ever let Berlin lay eyes on Elizabeth."

She blinked rapidly and muttered a stream of obscenities under her breath.  "He's her biological father?" She sank back in the booth in her shock, ignoring the sharp digs of the cracked plastic seating underneath her.

"He doesn't know that yet. If he sees the scar on her hand, he'll recognize its significance as proof of her identity. She doesn't know anything about this, Elenna. Protect her."

"I will," she promised somberly. He caught a glimpse of the woman in question across the small cafe and immediately brightened his expression and laughed as if Agent Davidson had just said something extremely witty. She was a little slower to respond while still caught by the shockwaves of the bomb he just exploded between them. Liz caught something of their strange interaction but mentally brushed it off as unimportant compared with all of their other concerns.

Their first stop in Roswell was the airport; Dembe was waiting with their usual pilot in the small shed that was the office/waiting area of the general aviation section of the main airport. Their greetings were quickly followed by leave-taking. Red managed to slip a piece of paper with emergency numbers into Davidson's fingers without undue notice during his final formal handshakes with both agents. Liz escorted him halfway to the waiting plane. She kissed him quickly, than again more fervently as they ignored the number of people nearby pretending they weren't observing the couple in their final moments before separation.

"I love you, Elizabeth," he whispered in her ear before resolutely stepping away. He refused to look back as he crossed the stretch of macadam to the waiting jet; his traditional placid working expression was back in place as he climbed into the jet to take the waiting drink from the stewardess' hand and brusquely order Dembe to hand him the files he had requested be waiting on board. When he needed a break from the mounds of reading he took some time to change into one of the suits he kept on hand on the jet for similar situations.

The flight to Denver went much faster than Red had wished for; he had so many things to think about before meeting William Price. His people had discovered nothing about the mysterious billionaire that he could use as leverage. Whatever dirty dealings he had committed in his meteoric rise to the top had been cleaned up perfectly. In Red's experience there was always an overlooked disgruntled employee or ex-girlfriend's best friend or dog's former owner with stories to tell for the right price; once he had blackmailed a crooked congressman based on tales from the guy's high school debate coach. William Price was extremely efficient at weeding out his personal garden, Red mused with a mix of disappointment and some admiration. There weren't too many more tricks left in his bag to try. He hoped that Mr. Price's intentions were to offer a mutually beneficial deal, because for the first time in nearly twenty years, Reddington was walking into a meeting where he didn't clearly hold the upper hand.

As they approached their final destination, William Price's private airstrip near his mountain enclave, the pilot let out a yelp of surprise. Dembe quickly checked in with the cockpit; Red followed a few minutes later to satisfy his own curiosity. When he was younger he had convinced his previous pilot to teach him some of the basics of flying; he had even taken the controls in level flight several times for his own amusement. The pilot turned around eyes-wide when he entered the tiny cockpit, and explained again that as they reached final approach, with one brief announcement the control tower on the ground had taken control of the plane and was landing it remotely. When the pilot tried to retake control the instruments didn't respond to his commands. The pilot shooed them both back to their seats to buckle in for landing. It was the smoothest landing any of them had ever experienced. The plane taxied itself to the very edge of the strip, coming to a rest near a series of black SUVs, shut itself down, and wouldn't respond to the pilot's increasingly frantic efforts to restart the engine.

"Apparently we remain here until Mr. Price decides to send us on our way," Red announced with an air of bemusement. "I believe Agent Keen would profile him as a bit of a control freak."

"Raymond..." Dembe started.

Red shook his head. "The only way back is forward, my friend." Dembe insisted on exiting the plane first and remaining close by his friend's side. A moveable flight of steps had been provided; at the foot of the steps two men waited.

Red turned immediately to the man in the formal black suit and tie. William Price's face was as well-known as his reputation. He reached out a hand in greeting. "Thank you for coming, Mr. Reddington."

"My client was quite thrilled to receive the news that he had submitted the winning bid," Red replied with his usual exuberant energy on entering into negotiations. 

Would you join me for the ride to the house?" Mr. Price motioned to the second of the SUV's. "Your companion will be fine in the other car. I can guarantee your safety in my company."

"Of course, Mr. Price. We have so much to talk about. All of those little details left to iron out before signing on the dotted line." Red smiled his most disarming with no response. He turned to examine their location, and noted the wide array of lights to the south. "Your airstrip is located rather close to the main airport. Don't you find the noise and traffic irritating?"

"The proximity to the airport is useful for my work, but my home is located some distance away in the mountains." He graciously waited until his guest had seated himself in the car before entering. Red's curiosity grew as they drove off on the journey to the main house. The stories about Mr. Price's inapproachability were true enough. The man seemed completely unflappable. Every attempt by Red at starting conversation, including some rather rude jibes, were politely but effectively parried down by his host. He seemed bound and determined to keep silent, and Red finally gave in and turned instead to study the view outside.

They were ascending rapidly up a steep incline in a series of switchbacks, reminding him a little of the approach to the Abbey. They stopped far short of the peaks Red expected would be the grand background for the expected mansion. Instead they pulled to a stop within the reach of a natural canyon created by a tall lively waterfall splashing into a shallow pool only steps away from their car. Red climbed out of his seat without invitation, lost in admiration of the magnificent view. Mr. Price followed behind him silently to regard the scene calmly with what his guest imagined was some pride. He motioned for his guest to follow him along the edges of the pool towards one of the overhanging cliffs, and Red had his second big surprise in minutes. The facade of the house was as grand as he expected for the richest man in the world, a large hand-cut log veranda faced the waterfall with a number of broad glass windows exposing the view for residents inside. But Red realized with wonder that all of the visible wooden section only compromised the entryway to the home. The majority of the living space had been carved into the mountain itself and hidden from view.

"Unusual,I know. But it is more easily secured, temperature-controlled, and I rather like living underground," Mr. Price admitted to Red's unasked question. "I have been told that you do not suffer from any form of claustrophobia?"

"No, I'm fine," his guest replied easily. "But I've seen pictures of a different home in the popular press, so I'm rather surprised."

"I keep a separate location for publicity purposes. This is where I live, Mr. Reddington. Please come inside and let me offer you a drink while we discuss our business." The second car had followed them to the canyon, but both men remained inside waiting while Mr. Price led Red onto the veranda and through the entryway. "Please, have a seat in the parlor through that doorway," Mr. Price encouraged his guest. "I'll return in a moment with your drink. Scotch, I believe?"

Red's third surprise; Mr. Price apparently didn't keep any domestic staff. After ten minutes, Mr. Price himself entered with a tray loaded with two glasses of ice and a full bottle. He poured their drinks and settled into a seat facing his guest. Red had used his time left alone in the expensively decorated, soulless room to decide on his approach.

"Mr. Price, I'm interested to hear how we won a bid in an auction that hasn't started yet. Final entries weren't due until the end of the week.  Why am I really here?" He smiled in anticipation of the coming volley.  Red liked starting conversations off-kilter. People's flustered reactions often led to hints about their motivations.  Not in this case.

Mr. Price merely nodded thoughtfully. "You were described to me as a very direct man, Mr. Reddington, and I am happy that is true. I also have no wish to waste our time with pleasantries. I brought you here to offer you a simple deal. You will either agree or disagree, and our actions will follow from there."

"What is the deal?" Red leaned back in his seat, relaxing now that the familiar dance of give and take had begun.

Mr. Price waited for several heartbeats to respond. "In 1990 you were shown a box filled with a number of secret files kept hidden on the same naval base where you served as an intelligence officer. Late that year you abandoned your family and career, stole the box and disappeared without a trace for a number of years."

"You want the files," Red replied wearily. "Multiple copies of those files now exist in secure locations, Mr. Price. Taking or destroying the original box won't prevent the release of that information to the public." He had stuck in his mind an image of Fitch of twenty years ago warning him that he would make powerful enemies if he followed through with his plans for the files. Fitch had been right. This was another one of the many times Red bitterly cursed the day he had tossed that box in the back of his car and ran for his life.

Mr. Price answered decisively, "I'm not interested in the files or their contents, Mr. Reddington. There was an object in the box. A object you couldn't categorize or recognize its purpose. That object is mine, and I need you to return it to me."

"The fulcrum?" Before his betrayal, when they were still good friends and co-conspirators, Alan Fitch had gotten very drunk one late night and ranted about the legendary fulcrum. No one could figure out what the thing did, he had exclaimed, not any of their best engineers could venture a wild guess though they spent hours studying it with every piece of technology they had available. During the twenty years it had been in his possession, Red had only taken the fulcrum out of the box once. He stared at it for ten minutes than returned it to the box and tried to never think of it again.

"What do I get in return?" he asked now. He added with a slightly sarcastic tone, "My life?"

Mr. Price came close to showing emotion. He seemed slightly offended. "Mr. Reddington, I have brought you here as my guest. As long as you remain my guest I take full responsibility for your well-being."

"Then what are you offering?" He drained his glass and refused another.

"The Alliance is moving quickly on its plans, you must realize that they will act quite soon."

"If I give you the fulcrum, will you help me stop their plans?" Red asked.  He was reluctant to acknowledge any possibility for aid to rise up after so many years alone in his efforts.  But a small kernel of hope did ignite, and was doused quickly.

Mr. Price shook his head. "I have no reason to stop the Alliance. Their actions will not harm me at all; on the contrary, I will find the results to be quite beneficial to my own personal interests."

"You know they intend to slaughter millions of people before the endgame?" Red asked slowly in disbelief at his carelessness.

"Again, that is not my concern. I will not be persuaded to become your ally in this matter, Mr. Reddington. But if you give me the fulcrum, I will as part of the exchange offer you additional data on the exact timeline and methods the Alliance will use to reach its goal of bringing about their new world order. You will not be able to stop them, but you will then have all of the knowledge necessary to adequately protect your own interests during the time of transition."

Red had sat down for deals with some of the most infamous dictators of the most brutal regimes in the world. He had patiently waited through a number of vehement threats directed against the country of his birth, the regime's peaceful neighbors, and even in several cases against their own innocent citizens. All of those dictators had demonstrated more compassion and simple humanity than the pleasantly bland man in the room with him now. The chill started in the lowest section of his spine and crept up slowly like a spider weaving its web up his back. Red refused to allow the sudden chills to affect his voice or alter his calm persona. He kept telling himself that this was just an unusual negotiation tactic on the part of Mr. Price.

"You call this part of the exchange. What would be the other part?"

Mr. Price offered a small smile. "I will help you recover your three companions. I have received word that they have just been abducted by associates of the man you refer to as Berlin."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> okay, when I heard the word 'fulcrum', my real first thought was 'is it sonic?' because I am also a loyal Whovian.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Berlin's people make their move.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yep, this chapter is coming out a day early. I looked at the calendar and realized I have less than a month until new episodes and six more chapters after this one. So I decided to post every five days instead of once a week, and hopefully finish this up before the season restarts. Then I can focus on ... my new book featuring Mr. Price and some of his other friends.  
> Even more importantly to me, I'll looking forward to finishing this so I can go back and read all of the other fics that have been posted since I started this one. I know I've been missing out on some really good stuff, but I know I'll confuse the heck out of myself by reading someone else's version. (Once I rewound Berlin part II about twenty times, looking for a great scene I loved between Liz and Fitch - to finally realize I had read it in a story. I'm easily befuddled.) So the days after I finish posting have been booked for one long happy archive binge.
> 
> I hope you enjoy! Next post on Friday!

They only had to stop by the hotel and pick up the luggage they had dropped off that morning, and they could hit the interstate and conceivably reach Sante Fe before nightfall. Liz and Ressler both noticed that Davidson had grown unusually quiet since their meal but said nothing, assuming it was only the stress of hatching a sudden escape plan that had affected her.

The hotel lot was tied up with randomly parked cars and tired people rolling overpacked suitcases as those who had week-ended in the busy tourist town were checking out in time for evening flights home. Davidson claimed a parking spot near the main entrance, dangled the car key by its plastic tag, and wearily announced that the driver's seat was now someone else's for the next leg of the journey. She tagged along behind the other two into the building, trying to upgrade her usual high level of situational awareness without dropping any hints to her companions about the additional warning she had received. Ressler noticed, and guessed that something had happened at the restaurant that had made his suspicious partner even more hyper-vigilant.

Liz waited patiently in the hall as they separated long enough for each agent to grab their unpacked suitcases from their rooms. Elenna took a few minutes longer than Don and only shrugged when lightly teased about the delay. The front lobby and their car were at the other end of the long narrow corridor that stretched the entire length of the building. They hustled along its length, gingerly threading their way through first a batch of rowdy college students, then a family of toddler triplets and their exhausted parents. They passed into the lobby and rejoiced when they saw that there was no line for checkout and several clerks at the ready. Elenna allowed herself a sigh of relief as the last hurtle was about to be cleared.

Then the interior lights cut out. Someone down the hallway cussed loudly at the inconvenience and a couple of the triplets started crying. In the midst of the resulting confusion, a number of figures in dark clothes burst in the lobby through the front doors directly towards the trio of agents.

Ressler had his service weapon out first; after calling out warning to the desk clerks he fired at the dark figures racing towards him. He thought he had scored a direct hit before he was tackled to the ground by someone large and powerful. More hands arrived to pull a thick hood over his head; in the sudden darkness he heard women's voices calling out for him. Something jabbed him in the arm and he sucked in his breath with concern. "They gave me an injection!" he called out to his colleagues. Within a few breaths whatever had been injected took effect. Donald was floating now like a lonely fallen leaf adrift a vast river of darkness. His last conscious thought was sorrow that he had left his partners behind.

Elenna dropped to the ground as soon as the lights kicked out, crouching with her ever-present knife in hand and waiting for signs of the coming attack. "You can't let them take you, Liz. Get out of here!" she ordered in a harsh whisper towards her friend. Within seconds someone in dark clothes passed her by and she made her move. He screamed as the blade sliced through his leg muscles and collapsed in a bleeding heap on the ground next to her. She discovered the object in his hand at the same moment Ressler yelled out his warning. Then she felt something jab into her neck from behind.

When the lights went out Liz froze for a second, reviewing the image in her mind of the layout of the lobby. She heard Elenna's warning and filed the strange message away for further analysis later. Then she bolted towards the long half-wall that separated the main lobby from the motel office. She vaulted over the top and dropped out of sight between the bewildered office clerks. When Ressler fired she used the distraction to crawl across the small space to the door to the back office, where the manager stared at her from under his desk with a mix of terror and confusion. "Stay down out of sight," she ordered. She spotted the other exit from the room; a door leading to the small cross corridor. By this point pandemonium had erupted throughout the halls at the sound of gunfire. She would be running straight into chaos, which hopefully could work in her favor. If the invaders didn't know her by appearance, she may be able to blend in with the crowds. She bit her lip in dismay at the thought of abandoning her friends, but she was unarmed and outnumbered and Elenna had meant something by her warning she had to trust.

Someone was coming through the office after her. She yanked open the door and tumbled out in to the hall. Someone screamed until they realized it was only a disheveled woman and no danger. Liz ignored the entreaties of the scared bystanders for news and raced for the exit at the far end of the corridor. She sincerely promised herself that in the future she would heed Raymond's earnest advice to carry a weapon with her at all times. Liz heard the heavy footfalls now only a few feet behind her and steeled herself for the sharp needle point or bullet that was going to end this adventure shortly. When she heard a weapon fire she flinched at the sympathetic pain pooling in her exposed back, until she realize in wonder it wasn't her that had been shot. She halted and whirled around to see her pursuer on the ground in a pool of blood, as an older man stepped out of his motel room holding a handgun, surprised himself by his choice to jump into the action.

"Thank you," she gasped out finally, and took off again towards the exit. A few observers tried half-heartedly to stop her, but she evaded them easily. She burst out into the warm light of the desert sunset. The front of the motel was now jammed with police cars that offered no protection for her. She risked a pause to heave a couple of exhausted deep breaths, then raced off again in the direction of the shopping center across the street. She hoped desperately that from a distance she looked like just another of the frightened motel guests trying to escape from the violent scene.

Bunches of people had appeared in store doorways as the sudden chorus of police sirens caught their attention. One man tried to stop her as she tried to slip into the grocery store at the end of the strip mall, asking her if she knew what had happened. She only shook her head and hurried through the store to the restroom in back. She locked herself in and sank to the floor, clasping her hands to her face as she shuddered in horror.

Liz knew the proper procedures to follow in a time like this; she was supposed to call the emergency number that activated Red's best retrieval team. They would arrive within minutes to whisk her to safety. But instead she pulled up her legs and clasped her knees to her chest. Agent Davidson's warning flashed into her mind. Liz thought back to her friend's strange behavior on their drive from the airport. She had known an imminent attack was a possibility and Liz was their target, but she hadn't shared her intel with her team, Liz realized with growing bewilderment.

Her mind switched gears. Ressler had warned about the men using hypodermic needles instead of guns, and this suggested that this was a retrieval team instead of a hit squad. Someone intended to use their lives as bargaining chips with Raymond. Her heart sank at the thought. Whatever William Price wanted from Raymond had to be something truly horrible he would never agree to without her life hanging in the balance. Her friends' lives wouldn't buy the same deal without her as part of the package, and surely Mr. Price knew that and had singled her out as the most important asset to be acquired in the operation. Somehow Elenna had already known that.

Liz sighed. If she called the emergency line she would be whisked away, safe but out of the loop and powerless. Meanwhile there was no way even their best people would be able to retrieve Raymond from Price's own sanctuary. As soon as Price learned she had escaped his men, any deals would be off and Raymond no longer useful or worth keeping alive. As long as her capture was still a possibility, so was a deal, and that gave Raymond a better chance to make his own escape. There was no decision to make, really. She dropped her phone on the ground and repeatedly crushed it with her shoe, with the hope that any tracer that had been planted on her was now destroyed.

Then the full sense of her situation hit her, and she slumped to a seat on the ground again. William Price was a technical genius and the inventor of all sorts of new technology.  She had heard stories of the new drones he had been peddling, that were the size of butterflies and could read the pages of a newspaper from thousands of feet in the air. Anytime she was exposed to the sky she could be followed easily. It was pretty likely his people knew where she was right now and were already on the way.

She rose to her feet, with no idea where she was going but with determination to get somewhere safe.

 

 

 

Donald Ressler woke up with a start. His first thought was for his fiercely pounding headache, which he quickly surmised came from the knock-out drug that had been rudely administered in the hotel lobby. He opened his eyes to complete darkness. He first gingerly flexed his fingers and hands, then moved on to wiggle his toes on his oddly bare feet. Further experimentation led to the realizations that he was uninjured, but at some point he had been stripped down to only his boxer shorts.

His next move was to cautiously begin to explore his pitch black surroundings. He determined there were no other objects with him in the room. The door was metal and thick, and didn't have a handle or any mechanism at all on the interior side. The walls and floor were concrete block and impervious. There was a small ventilation shaft but it was far too small to be of any use to him. The room had obviously been built just for this kind of purpose. He wondered briefly if they were still near Roswell, or if during their period of unconsciousness they had been moved to a facility in Denver. He grimaced as he sniffed and realized what he was smelling was a faint whiff of dried blood.

While he had tried to narrow his attention to exploring his tiny cell the best he could, his mind insisted on flashing images of Liz and Elenna and ruining his concentration. He forcefully pushed away the resulting feelings to focus professionally on the situation. Price must have been on top of them all day, and waited until it was just the three of them before making his move. That gave him some small hope; maybe they were now part of the deal Red had traveled to Denver to negotiate. In the darkness Don shook his head with rueful disbelief. Reddington wouldn't take two steps out of his way to haggle for his life or Davidson's, but he was damned sure the man would work magic to rescue Keen.

That thought brought him to his feet again. He wasn't going to rely on that bastard's obsession with Keen to save his life or Elenna's. He fingered the edges of the door again, then around the perimeter of the tiny room. Even a pin or piece of something sharp would be helpful. He wasn't much of a praying man, but he sent out a silent wish that he could find anything that might help his cause. From the size of the chamber and lack of facilities, he didn't expect that this was intended to be a long-term accommodation. Somebody would come and open the door at some point, and he intended be ready to make his move when they did.

It took several hours, but his theory was proved correct. He had paused in his search when he heard footsteps racing down the hall. They slowed significantly and stopped some distance away from his door. He froze in place and forced himself to breathe slowly and calmly, afraid that any sound of movement would give away his state of alertness and his chance to escape. A few tense minutes later a dim red light switched on; brilliant compared to the previous total darkness. When the door finally cracked opened he was ready. He didn't flinch until the man in medical scrubs had entered fully into the room. Then he twisted the man around to a position between himself and the open doorway, expecting that a guard had been set on duty outside and would react quickly. The man had only seconds to gasp in surprise before Ressler twisted his head roughly and dropped him to the ground unconscious. In the man's right hand was another hypodermic needle Ressler guessed probably contained another dose to keep him sedated. He confirmed with surprise that the man in scrubs had come to the chamber alone. Then the agent realized that he could hear sounds of frantic activity coming from the far end of the empty corridor, and what sounded suspiciously like gunfire. Maybe they were being rescued, he theorized with some hopefulness, but he wasn't going to wait and see.

Ressler took one minute to strip off the scrubs and dress himself the best he could in the smaller man's outfit. He found in one of the pockets a blank white card with a magnetic strip running up the side. Ressler assumed with relief that this was a security card that would hopefully open other cell doors, too. Still barefoot he abandoned his chamber, keeping the needle handy as his only form of defense in case of discovery. The corridor was lined with doors just like the one to his cell. He used the pass on door after door, each one opening onto an empty chamber and adding to his frustration. He paused at the twelfth door for only a minute, about to slam it shut when he heard a soft whimper in the darkness.

"Keen?" he asked hopefully.

"Its me," Elenna replied softly from the farthest corner. He felt his way cautiously across the room, finally reaching out and brushing his fingers against warm flesh. She was lying on the ground on her side, curled up with her knees drawn up against her chest, as undressed as he had been upon waking.

His first thought was to yank off his newly acquired shirt and offer to her. She muttered a thank you, pulled herself up to a seated position and pulled the top over her head. "Are you hurt?" he asked with concern when she moved much slower than he had expected her to react.

"I'm fine," she answered shortly, and he realized with some wonder that her voice was rough and hoarse as if she had been crying.

"We have to find Keen," he said finally. She had risen unsteadily to her feet with his help; he could feel her shaking violently. He assumed she had probably received a recent second dose of the knockout drug for the effects to be this dramatic. She brushed past him in the darkness towards the faint light of the cracked door. He tapped her on the shoulder and motioned for her to wait while he checked out the corridor.

"Liz got away." she said. In the bright light of the hallway he could see her eyes were bloodshot and swollen. Davidson stumbled and nearly tumbled to the floor, then rested against the wall for support. "What kind of shit did they give us?" she muttered.

He gently pulled her in to lean against his side for support to continue down the hall, in the opposite direction of the continuing sounds of confusion. He could feel her still trembling through the thin cotton of her shirt. She wrapped her arms around him and clung tight as he half-pulled her down the corridor. He had never seen Agent Davidson in any kind of state like this before and his worry grew. "You'll be okay, El," he promised.

"Get me out of here, Don," she murmured, and he winced with pity at the naked fear in her voice. He had never been good at offering comforting words, but he tried all of the ones he could think of as they continued on their journey. The Elenna he knew would have brushed off his attempts with a laugh and pointed comment, but instead she only gripped him tighter. They were in a few feet of the double doors when they flew open to reveal two men in full combat gear with weapons drawn.

"Davidson and Ressler?" the taller man confirmed. "We were sent to retrieve you."

Ressler paused. This he desperately wanted to believe, but he didn't want to be the fool that dived from the frying pan right into the flames. "Who sent you?"

The second man replied. "I have a message to confirm our identity. I was to tell Agent Davidson that the Lord of the Southlands is gone."

Davidson flinched at the name, turning her eyes away to bury in Ressler's shoulder for a long silent moment. Then she turned back. "Reddington sent them," she said with surety when she had regained enough composure. He had remembered the name from their conversation weeks ago in her loft. "Get us out of here."

"Yes, ma'am," the first man replied immediately. He barked orders into a device on his wrist as they burst through the doors into another long empty corridor. At some point on the journey Ressler gave up trying to help her keep up with their pace and instead swung her into position to carry her in his arms. She accepted this meekly. As they raced down the corridor, twice armed men burst into the hallway to be rapidly taken down by their new guardians. At some point, Ressler assumed from her long period of silence, Elenna had fallen unconscious again. Then she sighed against his neck.

"Awesome trip to Vegas," she declared softly.

"We should have gone to see Celine," he replied and was relieved by her answering chuckle.

After what seemed to be an endless numbers of hallways and staircases they finally emerged into the night air and detected the whirring of a waiting helicopter. They were rushed aboard immediately where a medic was already waiting to examine Elenna. Their escorts jumped aboard as well.

"Who do you work for?" Ressler demanded. "How did you know where we were being held?" That bothered him more than anything. Red's people were good, but not good enough to stage an incursion like this on that short of notice. As the helicopter rose up he could tell the facility had been well-hidden in the desert, far out of sight of town or any sign of habitation. It had given numerous signs of having at least originated as a government black site. He hoped fervently that the ownership had changed hands, and he had not just been held captive with the tacit approval of his own government.

The man waited until they had climbed out of range of any anti-aircraft weapons. "My name is Stephen. My partner is Jon. We were tasked by William Price to retrieve you and provide you both personal protection until we reach the secured facility in Colorado."

"William Price?" Ressler exclaimed with bewilderment at the unexpected source of salvation.  "Than who was holding us?"

"What about Agent Keen?" Agent Davidson interrupted softly.

Stephen paused. "We lost eyes on Elizabeth Keen in the attack in the motel. Her current status is unknown."


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Both Liz and Red make disturbing discoveries.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, Friday crept up quickly - and I usually never say that! 
> 
> Thanks again for the kind words of encouragement! I'll be back with the next chapter on Wednesday.

Stealing a car was even easier than Liz remembered. The hardest part was finding an older model that lacked the modern remote entries and smart keys that made lifting a ride more challenging than back in her long ago high school days. Before she made the attempt, Liz bought a hat and new jacket in one of the shopping center's boutique stores to help dodge the high flying drones she knew were up there in the sky, out of sight and recording her every move. She lucked out in spotting the perfect ride at the far end of the first row she checked; a late seventies pale blue Mercedes with antique license plates, conveniently parked next to a tall truck that would help hide her criminal intentions.

A few shoppers ambled past as she worked, but as long as she didn't seem concerned about it, no one ever stopped to investigate the woman jiggling with a car lock. This was a little truism she had learned back in her youth; this was why she had always been chosen to be part of the team when her high school buddies had plans to skip school and go off on adventures. She smiled as she worked, remembering with some fondness the boyfriend that had taught her how to jimmy the lock with the wire hanger that had been included with her jacket purchase.

Once inside the car she breathed a deep sigh of relief; rewiring took less than a minute and then she was on her way. Step number one was to put some distance between her and the scene of the abduction. Once she was safely out of Roswell there would be appropriate time to sit down somewhere, concentrate, and develop step number two. She didn't always follow Raymond's advice to travel armed, but she did always keep enough cash stashed with her in case of need. If she was careful she could travel off-grid for several days without even Red's people able to trace her. That was important for her plan; whatever step number two turned out to be, she doubted he would approve of any ideas that didn't include her locked away in a safe house somewhere. She wasn't interested in making him happy right now; instead she intended to focus on keeping him alive and bringing him home again.

She stopped for the night in a small mom and pop motel along the interstate, paid cash for a room, then strolled over to the bland little diner nearby for a late meal. She took the booth in the back corner, ordered the special with decaf coffee and leaned back in her seat with a heavy sigh.

"Hey, Liz," She had closed her eyes for only a minute, resting as she waited for her final cup of decaf and a slice of strawberry pie. It was past midnight on a horrible day, she was exhausted, and she slipped up for one minute. Now she was going to pay for that. She opened her eyes, wishing it had only been a quick hallucination from fatigue that had made her recognize that voice from the grave.

Tom Keen took the seat opposite her, unasked and unwanted. He smiled the way he had always done when he had caught sight of her. Once this smile had been a sign of warmth and welcoming refuge. Now she really wished she had carried a weapon that day.

"No, I'm not dead," he announced in his usual good-natured tone. The server materialized at the end of his sentence. He ordered a coffee and slice of pie, even checking to see if his date wanted anything else as well. Liz could only fume silently at the final insult of her day.

"I should have let him finish the job that day in New York," Liz announced slowly. She tapped her fingers angrily on the table. No phone, no weapon... creating a loud scene wouldn't bring any benefit to her in the long run. There was no way to escape this conversation.

He let her finish her string of thoughts without ever taking his eyes off her expression. "Its been a long time, Liz. I missed you."

"Bullshit," she snapped. "I was just the job, remember?"

It was his turn to shrug. "Isn't that what you always used to say about Reddington?" He paused as she flinched at the truthfulness of his remark. "Unfortunately, I don't have a lot of time for us to catch up right now. We've got a couple items we have to discuss, Lizzie."

"Say your piece and go," she ordered.

He only smiled more brightly. "First, congratulations on your escape today. I always knew you had it in you to save yourself, but you were under our protection the entire time. We're watching out for you, Liz, just like we've always done."

She sipped her coffee. "You mean Berlin. You still work for him."

"Of course. He's not just my employer, he's my friend." He tried to reach across the table for her hand, but she angrily snatched it away. He didn't react. "He's been an inspiration to me, Liz. I wish Reddington hadn't poisoned your mind to view Berlin as the enemy. You put your trust in the wrong man, and I'm afraid of what it will take for you to see that, Liz."

"You're wasting time, Tom," she advised. He looked the same as she remembered; it was too easy to see him again in the kitchen of the townhouse, teasing her lightly about dinner or telling funny stories from his teaching day. She shuddered. He had taught for two years with twenty-two students a year. Forty-four sets of parents never knew that their kids spent their days in the company of a cold-blooded professional assassin.

"I knew you had developed feelings for Reddington, Liz," her ex-husband shared this with a grimace of distaste at the memory. "I could always read your emotions better than you ever realized. It was frustrating." For a moment his anger was genuine. She turned away from his now disapproving gaze to study her coffee cup instead. He continued, "I couldn't warn you about a man I wasn't supposed to know existed."

Tom paused for a moment to drain his own cup of coffee. He hesitated, silently debating with himself, then suddenly demanded, "Liz, you abandoned your job, your friends, everything you knew to be with him. Are you sure this isn't just another sham on his part, to keep you where he needs you? Does he really deserve your love or trust?"

"This is where you try to undermine my relationship with Raymond," Liz remained calm, even amused by his pathetic attempt. She tried taking a bite of her pie, but it had become dry and tasteless. She washed it down with a sip of coffee. "That won't work, Tom."

"So, he's told you that he won't keep secrets from you; he's shown you a few choice places and items, and now you think you have his whole story. Am I right, Liz?" His concerned expression had returned; the one he had used when she had gone over her limit on her credit card, or had forgotten to pay the water bill on time. As if it pained him that his wonderful little Lizzie needed his gentle correction to get back on track.

Time and distance had illuminated for her his tricks like this that had once kept her remorseful and in line. "Screw you, Tom, and Berlin, and your whole operation. I don't need you and I sure as hell don't want you anymore." She grabbed her jacket and slid across the seat, intending to stick him with the bill and walk away.

"Where was he last night? Between two and four a.m.?" Tom touched her arm lightly as she passed. She desperately wanted to keep up her righteous momentum but her body betrayed her by freezing in place. "He thought you wouldn't notice he had left the safe house, but you did. He wasn't alone, Liz." Her gaze fell on him, nearly feral in her fury, but she remained still and listening.

He seized her hand, in a strange parallel to her discussion in the cafe with Don only the night before. Her sudden indecision urged him on. "How well do you think you know Agent Davidson?" Tom asked quietly. Her face flushed hot before she could think of any words of denial. "I have pictures of them together, Liz, at a club and alone in his car."

She didn't know that she had taken her seat in the booth again until Tom did manage to catch her hand in commiseration. "He visited her late one night at her apartment two weeks ago, while you were still out of the country. He didn't tell you that, did he?"

"He doesn't tell me about all of his meetings," Liz answered absently. She felt like her mind was floating far away from this place, like she was hearing about this conversation third hand and weeks later.

"I know you don't want to believe me, Liz, but Donald Ressler can confirm their meeting last night as well. This morning he viewed the security tapes from the front of their hotel that show Agent Davidson exiting Reddington's car. Liz, you don't need to be involved in all of this; you certainly don't want to get mixed up with William Price on top of all of these other concerns. Let me take you somewhere safe..."

Liz shook her head, trying to loosen the fluffy clouds of shock that were threatening to block her thinking. "If you were watching me, then you saw them take Davidson and Ressler. Are they okay?"

He nodded with that infernal patience that he always used to win their battles. "Both of them are now in Denver, in the custody of William Price, Liz. I'm sorry, but even Berlin can't risk making any moves openly against him. But maybe with you working with us we can negotiate..."

"I want to talk to William Price. Find me a way to speak directly with him and then maybe we can make a deal," Liz said finally.

 

 

Red had no idea where he was being taken. All he knew was that he had been shaken awake in the middle of the night, and ordered by his host to dress quickly and follow him. Within minutes Red was ready and barking question after question at the departing back of his host. Mr. Price ignored his badgering and merely set a fast pace down the main corridor of the guest wing that had been Red's home for the night. William Price didn't bother to turn on any lights to aid in his navigation, and  demonstrated surprising agility dodging objects in the darkness. Red followed behind his guide closely. He remembered the wide, shallow stepped grand staircase with some trepidation, but fortunately Mr. Price led him instead to a discreet elevator hidden among the rows of guest bedroom doors.

The tiny enclosed space nearly brought on his first ever bout of claustrophobia, especially when the trip downstairs continued far past what would have been a normal arrival time for a journey of one floor. "You have a reputation as a man of discretion, Mr. Reddington," Mr. Price finally spoke in the darkness. Red could feel the puffs of breath near his left ear, and resisted the urge to wipe the sensation away. "I must rely on that discretion, for I am about to share with you a secret many, many people would like to learn."

"As long as I can trust you, you can trust me," Red replied evenly. "Has there been word about my friends?"

"We will discuss this shortly. But first, I am sure that very shortly you will have a number of questions for me to answer as well as I can." The elevator finally reached its destination. The door dinged open on to what Red thought at first was just more darkness. Then a faint lighting system activated, and he realized he was at the start of a narrow tunnel carved through the mountainside. Closer inspection revealed tracks running down the center of the tunnel, and a small little train car parked at the nearby terminus, pointed towards the unknown point B at the other end of the line.

"I'm afraid it may too late to ask this question, but do you have any difficulty with motion sickness, Mr. Reddington? We will need to proceed at an unusually high rate of speed tonight, and our ride might be a bit jarring." Red shook his head in reply, too distracted by studying the rail car as they approached to formulate any words. It looked a little like one of the new monorails in China but on a much smaller scale. The inside was as dimly light as the rest of the environment but luxuriously appointed. It held enough space for several average sized people to ride comfortably. Mr. Price motioned for his guest to chose a seat first. Red settled into one of the seats facing forward. Mr. Price picked the opposing seat and with a smooth movement, flicked open a cabinet half-hidden in the dimness to reveal several decanters and glasses. "We'll reach our destination in about ten minutes."

"What is our destination?" Red inquired as his host poured two drinks. He glanced out the windows of the cabin. He had not seen another person during his stay in Mr. Price's house, and there were no technicians or workers around down here, either. Apparently this part of the operation must run automatically, or perhaps there was a control room out of sight to run the machinery.

"Our destination is the main terminal of Denver Airport. We..." Mr. Price was cut off when the transportation system came online with a sudden peal of a bell, followed instantly by an incredible surge in velocity. The little car flew from the terminus like a rocket into space. The glass of scotch flew unnoticed out of his hand as Red slammed back into the cushions of his seat. Eyes wide with terror, he wanted to voice an indignant comment or maybe a cry for help, but he couldn't as the sudden press of g-forces made it impossible for him to move any part of his body. Swallowing was out of the question; breathing became something that required conscious thought and willpower.

After several eternities had passed and he had reached a peaceful consensus on terms with his Maker, the little train began to slowly drop back down to reasonable rates of travel. Dignity be damned, Red heaved several deep shuddering breaths with his head between his knees in order to pull himself back from the edge of unconsciousness where he had dwelt for the last eight minutes.

He finally hoisted himself back up to regard his host, who calmly finishing his drink and set the empty glass in a nearby case. "What was that?" Red finally managed.

A little bit of curiosity crossed Mr. Price's expression, followed by what could have been a twinge of regret. "I apologize if our ride was unpleasant, Mr. Reddington. I have not had the honor of sharing my journey with a guest before tonight, and I was not aware that our mode of transportation would be so uncomfortable for you." This terminus was larger, and had the several expected technicians milling about and working controls. One man in military-grade body armor was standing at attention, evidently waiting for their arrival. He approached as soon as they had exited the rail car.   Mr. Price waved at him an order to wait as he took this opportunity to finish his earlier start on his explanation. "This is Stephen. He led the team that was tasked with extracting your companions. He was only able to retrieve two of your people, Mr. Reddington. Ms. Keen had evaded capture at the hotel and our men were unable to pick up her trail after leaving that facility."

Red closed his eyes for a minute. He never so badly wanted Lizzie to have failed at anything, but if she hadn't escaped she would be here with him right now, not out there somewhere alone and still within Berlin's reach.  As part of the terms of his current agreement with Mr. Price, he had been able to relay messages to and from the outside world through Dembe, and he was certain Liz had not contacted his emergency retrieve team nor anyone else in his network. He was going to assume she had gone off-grid for some reason, because any other interpretation of her lack of contact was strictly forbidden from his awareness. "What about the other two?" he asked finally.

"Agent Ressler is fine. Agent Davidson was brought in critical condition. She had been given what we think was planned to be a lethal dose of the barbiturates they had intended to use to sedate the agents for transport."

Red asked sharply, "Will she recover?"

"Yes, Mr. Reddington. That is why we changed our plans and brought them here to this location, for its advanced and private medical facilities."

With this he acknowledged Stephen and ordered him to lead the way to the medical offices.  After leaving the terminal through a simple doorway they immediately encountered the double hatches of an airlock.  This led to a nondescript office lobby and an outside exit from the building.

Now Red found himself gawking around, wordless in his stunned realization. They were underground; a glimpse up to the sky and its vast grey expanse of rock confirmed this. But he and Mr. Price, and the commando who had greeted them were now walking down a sidewalk through a simple and pleasant green park, strolling past a number of two and three story bland office buildings awkwardly propped up on huge metal shock absorbers under each corner. Light came from giant yellow tinted lamps beaming down from the rocky ceiling, recreating late afternoon sunlight with reasonable accuracy. He guessed the pretend city covered an area in the millions of square feet, far vaster in scope than any facility he had ever heard described or imagined.

"I''m sorry to contradict you, Mr. Price, but I don't believe we're now at Denver International Airport." Red finally stated.

"You are correct," Mr. Price agreed. "Instead we are underneath the airport.  We're now located about twelve hundred feet below the main airport runways. This facility was designed and built as an emergency shelter that can house one thousand people for two years, protecting them in any number of catastrophic scenarios."

"You built this for the federal government," Red declared.  He shook his head with some wonder at the audacity of building a secret complex underneath one of the busiest airports in the world.

"No," Mr. Price assured him. "They have numerous other facilities closer to the Capital they assume will protect them adequately. Mr. Reddington, this location was built under contract for the Alliance. They believe that when the appointed time for their wave of destruction comes, they will be able to retreat here to safety."

Red blinked rapidly as realization arrived. "But when that time does come..."

"You have surmised correctly, Mr. Reddington," Mr. Price agreed with some pleasure at his new companion's astuteness. "When that time comes, I will retain control of this facility. Only the people I choose will survive here."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have to admit I'm fascinated with all of the conspiracy theories flying around Denver airport - if you're not familiar with the stories, people claim the airport was built to hide all sorts of wacky things. I couldn't resist the chance to link both Red's and Mr. Price's mythologies to the airport.


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Red and Ressler have a conversation.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi again! 
> 
> I enjoy many things about writing stories, but I love best the moments when everything suddenly changes, and the story goes running off without me. The plot bunnies know a lot more than I do, and it's incredibly fun when the second half of a sentence goes to a far different place than what I had intended when writing the first half. Those are the moments that keep me coming back to this iPad.

This was not the face Elenna expected to see when she first opened her eyes.

For some unmeasured time she had lain awake, silent and unmoving, having slowly returned to consciousness in a place that felt warm and protected enough she could conserve her strength and remain placid and defenseless for a while. She had vague memories of fighting and soldiers, of a tumultuous helicopter ride spent gripping a strong reassuring hand. She had slipped away into oblivion before the ride reached its final destination, but she could extrapolate from the bleachy odors and the plastic cord sneaking out of a needle in her left wrist she was now under medical care. Someone else was in the room with her, someone breathing calmly and slowly nearby but not within reach of any simple movements of her hand. A whisper of paper between fingers suggested the person was reading, and perhaps so lost in his own thoughts that he didn't realize his patient had awakened.

Finally she opened her eyes and turned slightly; her eyebrows furled together in consternation when she recognized the fedora leaning over a battered paperback. "Oh, crap, I died and went straight to Hell," she muttered and bit her lip in disappointment.

Red tilted his head sideways to catch her in view and smiled brightly. "Good morning, Agent Davidson! How are you feeling?"

"That depends. Where am I? Why are you here?" She shifted around under the twisted snakes of wires lashing her to the bank of machines lined up next to her hospital bed. Red leapt up to offer graciously offer assistance but she impatiently waved him away. Finally she settled into a comfortable enough position and turned back to him for answers. And sighed. The classic Reddington mask had settled back into place; she knew that any real answers were going to take some rigorous and meticulous digging.

He offered in his blandest conciliatory tone, "We'll discuss the specifics of our location shortly, but I can assure you that this site is very well-secured and your medical care has been excellent."

She widened her attention to take in the empty cups and crumpled food wrappers arranged neatly on a nearby seat, next to an unfolded wool blanket. "How long have you been here?" she inquired with some surprise.

He shrugged. "Agent Ressler remained at your side until he knew you were under proper medical care and safe. But he was completely exhausted and desperately needed some rest himself, so I volunteered to take a turn on watch. You had us very concerned at times last night, Agent Davidson, but the medical team has assured me that you will recover completely with no lasting effects."

His smile was meant to be reassuring, but she still shuddered as she imagined scenes from the night before. "Berlin's people poisoned me?" She could recall some bits of the terse conversations with Stephen early in their ride.

"A deliberate overdose of tranquilizers," he agreed. His smile had disappeared. "They intended to eliminate all three of you as potential bargaining chips in my negotiations with Mr. Price."

"Berlin wouldn't want his daughter killed," Elenna rubbed her forehead with her fingers as a quick fix for the headache that had arrived as soon as she sat up in her bed. Red handed her the styrofoam cup of water sitting just out of her reach on her rolling tray. She gulped down the room temperature water, then returned the now-empty cup with a murmur of thanks.

"No," Red affirmed, "But he hasn't realized that connection yet. So as far as I can tell, she's still considered by his people a necessary target for elimination. She's been constantly on the move since the extraction attempt. Berlin's people haven't found her, but then neither have mine." His mouth tightened into a thin slit. Elenna was suddenly struck by the random realization she had never seen him tieless before. Even in all of his candid surveillance shots over the years he had been dressed impeccably in at least vest, hat and tie. But this morning the tie was strewn over the back of his chair, and his dress shirt had several open buttons and constellations of wrinkles. She would never assume that all of his readily apparent distress was only out of his concern for her. There was even more he wasn't telling her yet.

"So this hospital, it's a private facility, isn't it?" she fished.

"This is a private institution owned by Mr. Price," he confirmed generally. It had been bad enough explaining to Agent Ressler where they had been taken; Elenna was certainly not in the right state to hear the full truth.

She grimaced at the mention of their host. "Gee, you know things are going real well when you have to rely on William Price to save your ass. But that makes us his bargaining chips instead, right? What did he get from you in exchange?"

"You and Agent Ressler were a part of our negotiations," Red admitted. "But the rest of the story is quite complicated and you still need time to recover your health. We'll discuss business later." He rose to his feet to gather his belongings into an easily transportable pile. Then he plopped his hat on his head and offered her his most meaningless smile. "Now, I'm sure Donald will want to see you as soon as you are ready to receive visitors. I was able to arrange delivery of several fresh outfits for you. I can send a nurse to help you dress."

"Thanks, Red," she half sighed. He reacted slightly, and she realized with some wonder that this was one of the very few times she had addressed him directly by name. He leaned forward and stretched out his hand towards hers. Halfway there he noted her flinch, then rested his fingers on the railing of the bed instead.

"Agent Davidson, you were seriously physically harmed in the attack. But more concerning to me was the intensity of your emotional reaction."

"I'm fine," she tried to interrupt as soon as he reached the word 'emotional'.

He grew louder as he continued his speech and she shook her head vigorously in response. "With your history, I can well understand how terrifying this experience must have been for you. You should talk about this and let someone help."

Her expression darkened. "So a stranger jumped me from behind again, that's practically a continuing theme in my life. I got a little spooked, I admit, but I'm just fine now, I don't need all the Dr. Phil woo-hoo, especially from you."

"Talk to me, Elenna," he offered quietly in contrast to her vehemence. "I spent twenty years waiting for someone to jump out of the shadows. I can understand."

It was the kindness in his eyes that got to her; she had never seen any feeling in their depths beyond disdain or amusement until he gently reached out and touched her wrist and she let him. The door opened and both spun their heads to identify the intruder.  

Donald Ressler turned from the pale woman in the bed to the criminal leaning close and remained silent for a heavy moment. "We've been looking for you," he finally stated in his blandest federal agent tone. "Liz has made contact with William Price."

Red dropped her hand and stepped back, retreating to his professional expression as well. "She is well?" he demanded.

"She claims to be a in safe place.  Liz wants to negotiate directly with Price. She says she can provide him what he wants in exchange for our release." He didn't describe her additional request to speak privately with him. He had been able to confirm the late night meeting in Vegas, and reluctantly share the codename Red had sent to Elenna that neither he nor Liz recognized, that was highly suggestive of more conspiracies kept between the two of them.

Red's expression dropped directly into desperation. "No, absolutely not!" he exclaimed angrily. He should have known his brilliant Lizzie would have immediately realized his secret was Price's goal, and the one location where he would most likely have kept the original box hidden away. "I must speak with Lizzie right now."

"She won't let you be involved with their deal, Red," Ressler informed him. His attention took in everything in the room except his partner.  She shrank back into her seat with sorrow and confusion when she realized she was being avoided.

Red lost sight of everything in the room; his mind had leaped ahead to a variety of horrifying consequences if the deal went wrong. "She doesn't understand the danger she will cause for herself and others." he exclaimed, more to himself than his confused companions. "Where is William Price? I will make him understand there will be no arrangements made with Elizabeth."

"I just came from his office, I can take you there," Ressler offered too quickly.

"Give me two minutes to pull on some real clothes," Elenna ordered, already half-way out of the bed and wrestling with the tubes in her arm.

"Elenna, you are in no condition to go anywhere," Red didn't raise his voice, but the command in his low tone was unmistakeable. "You will remain right there in that bed. I promise I will return later and address all of your concerns." She grumbled but complied. He brusquely passed Ressler who glanced towards his partner, lowered his eyes and without a word pulled the door closed behind him.

The hospital was one of the more prominent buildings along the 'main street'.  William Price kept his office in an unmarked building a block away. Both men strolled briskly and silently, trying to ignore the still-unnerving vistas of the underground city.

"Agent Ressler, you obviously have something on your mind," Red kept his gaze focused straight ahead as he snapped out his words. "Say your piece now."

Ressler halted in place, arms crossed, letting Red continue on for a more few steps before addressing the back of his head. "Explain to me why you have been secretly meeting with Elenna. I know about your rendezvous in Vegas, and your late night visit to her apartment."

Red froze in disbelief. The undercurrent in the young agent's speech declared much more than than the words themselves. He spun around to lock the younger man in his own accusatory gaze. "Agent Ressler, I take great offense at your insinuation, for my own sake and for Agent Davidson. I know you believe I'm capable of many kinds of despicable acts, but do you honestly think your partner would engage in that type of activity? With me? I thought her obvious antipathy for me would be rather strong evidence against us sharing the kind of illicit affair you've imagined."

Donald shook his head as his temper broke. "Than why did I just find you alone in her room holding hands with her?" he demanded. "Who is the Lord of the Southlands? I saw her face when she heard that message from you. I can't think of any good reason you could know something so meaningful to her that her friends don't."

Red survived twenty years on the run by knowing how to remain calm in number of difficult scenarios; he cultivated the myth of his emotionless rationality as a needed protective wall. But this was just too much on top of everything else. He had the younger stronger man shoved against a wall before he knew it, oblivious to the stares of the few workers crossing the commons. "I understand you are a man of simple emotional states, and I can forgive your lack of empathy in most situations. But I lose my patience with you when your ignorance would leave a young woman struggling alone in the night with her darkest fears. I was with her all last night, Donald, because you weren't. You were too busy ruminating on your hopeless infatuation with Lizzie and inventing new reasons to rescue her from my devious clutches, to realize how badly your partner needed your companionship last night."

"You're not going to deflect this back on me," Ressler snapped back. He easily shook off the older man's grasp on his collar and towered over him with what suddenly became his intimidating size. "I can see you have developed some kind of feelings about Elenna, and that makes me really worried, considering what you've done to the other women in your life you've claimed to care about. I've interviewed your ex-wife several times during my time on the task force, Reddington; I just never entered those reports in your files. She told me lots of interesting stories I haven't told Elenna or Liz yet, but I will."

Red edged closer with his eyes narrowed down to slits. "I'm happy to hear you showed some ingenuity in your investigation, Donald, though your efforts were both wasted and dangerous. My ex-wife will use you to suit her own purposes you will never understand. Don't put your friends at additional risk because of your zealous need to punish me."

Ressler shook his head. "You're the reason Liz is now on the run and Elenna was nearly killed. I'll protect my partners by keeping both of them far away from you."

Red maneuvered past the young agent with a scowl of dismissal. "You are a damned fool, Donald Ressler, if you still can't realize yet what wonderful opportunities you have squandered in your willful blindness. Go back to Elenna.  Stay with her, care for her, and let her help you open your mind to those truths you've been far too stubborn to allow yourself to see. I will go visit with Mr. Price and see if I can still salvage this mess."


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Liz puts her plan in action.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whew! Writing this as a serial gives me even more appreciation for the show writers - its amazing their stories can be so consistently good when they're up against such wicked deadlines and the inability to ever go back and change canon once a show has aired. I tip my black fedora hat to them!!

The Berlin organization was as efficient as Reddington's. By the time Elizabeth Keen had removed her few meager belongings from her motel room, a four door sedan was waiting outside the lobby to transfer her to her next home for the evening.

Their new temporary headquarters was a working ranch, complete with small knots of cattle dozing contentedly here and there in the vast open lands under the brightness of the full moon. The arrivals were consigned immediately to the guest house, which would have been referred to as a mansion under any other circumstances. Without any comment beyond 'good night' Tom took the room opposite hers and immediately shut the door behind him. Liz was far too exhausted to thoroughly study the room, but she did surmise with relief that the suitcase waiting on the bed was packed with several changes of clothing and toiletries. She wasn't surprised he had picked the correct sizes, after all he had been her husband for two years and should remember such things. She was impressed that he had remembered her favorite brand and color of lip gloss.

She woke disorientated the next morning, mentally flipping through of all of yesterday's travels to figure out where she had finally ended up for the night. In the middle of her review a vaguely displeased mooing at first confused than amused her. She dressed quickly and slipped outside to take in the pastoral view of sunrise and herds on the move, meekly following the men on horses through their familiar daily routine. Liz could feel more than hear Tom's presence waiting behind her. She finally turned to acknowledge him.

"You still need your morning coffee, don't you?" he grinned and held out a steaming thermos. She took it from his hands without a word, and he reverted to business. "We reached out to Price's people. If he responds, he'll call this line," he said, and displayed one of the ubiquitous burner cells she had grown so used to carrying.

"I need time to think," she said with a hopelessness she hadn't wanted to allow into her voice.

He agreed immediately. "Berlin will want to make arrangements by tonight if you decide you want our assistance. Otherwise, Lizzie, hang out, relax, pet the stinky cows if you want." She had to smile at his reference to her ill-fated time as chaperone on one of Mr. Keen's class trips to the petting zoo.

Tom finished the conversation by insisting on taking her into the city for dinner that evening, giving her a de facto timeline to finalize her decisions. She didn't argue when he named the place and time eight hours hence, but merely accepted his directions with a short nod. Step two had arrived as a gift out of the blue; that day she would have to create step three all by herself and figure out how to manipulate three massive criminal organizations and get herself out of this mess.

The restaurant itself was blameless for the simmering burning in her gut that had flared up on her arrival. The food was deliciously prepared French classic cuisine served by an attentive older man with reams of knowledge of the provinence of every ingredient. The decor was fashionably traditional; modern enough to please younger guests while still remaining true to the establishment's roots. This was the kind of place Raymond would have chosen for this kind of meeting, she had realized as soon as they arrived and were shown to their private table in the most subtle corner of the room. It was, she mused over her glass of wine, the style of restaurant she had learned to classify as criminal-friendly during multiple undercover operations. Both the well-stocked bar and multiple exits were conveniently placed and easy to find. The servers were attentive with excellent memories for dinner orders, but would have unfortunate bouts of amnesia of the identity of their guests after their departures. The other guests were lovely looking people who somehow managed to never look another guest in the eye or offer any recognition if they did.

She pondered this more deeply as she studied her ex waiting patiently across the table, that during the time they had been married the man she had thought of as innocent Tom had known about this kind of place, too. Essentially she had gone from one criminal to another, and she cringed inwardly as that thought reverberated and her stomach burned. One had spent their relationship lying, and the other... well, she shelved that thought for later review.

"Did you like teaching?" she asked suddenly.

He had the decency to look a little sheepish. "I did. I got to chose what career I would follow when I was assigned to you. I always treated it as a real job, Liz. Day to day, I was just like any other teacher at the school."

She sighed, and shrugged. "Let's just get to business. I want to make a deal with Berlin. Can you speak for him?"

"Can you speak for Reddington?" was Tom's reply.

She shook her head. "I've made arrangements directly with William Price myself. Reddington is no longer part of this negotiation."

Tom's face went from confused to patronizing. "Lizzie, I'm sorry it had to come from me, but you needed to hear the truth about him before you got yourself into any deeper trouble. I guess Agent Ressler confirmed what I told you?"

"Agent Ressler told me a number of things," Liz replied evenly. She was determined to keep up her professional facade but the burning in her gut was making that more difficult by the minute. She took another sip of wine. "I need to leave the country tonight for twenty-four hours without any kind of tracking. No one knows where I go, not Reddington's people, not Price's, and not Berlin's. Then I want a fresh start somewhere far away from all of you."

"What do we get in exchange for helping you?" Tom asked.

Liz swallowed deeply. "Reddington. I know all of the new identities, safe houses, contacts. I'll make the exchange with William Price, then Berlin can have him and his whole organization."

Tom exclaimed in wonder. "You sure you want to do that, Liz?"

"He's screwing my best friend," Liz finally allowed some of her anger to boil to the surface. "Whatever hell Berlin puts him through won't be enough for me."

"I can make the arrangements," Tom agreed readily, "If this is what you really want. What about your friends?"

"Ship them back to the FBI," Liz answered firmly. "I don't want to see her again."

Tom's eyes had softened with compassion. Only an ex-wife would recognize the gleam of victory hidden in their depths. "I'm so sorry things went this way, Liz. I know you really loved him. I knew he would hurt you some day, but I honestly I didn't think it would be like this."

"Yeah," Liz rose to her feet with her purse strap over her shoulder. "I'd like to leave now. How soon can you have a plane ready?"

"We can have the jet ready for international flight in about an hour." He ushered her to the exit of the restaurant. Her lips tightened when his hand ghosted absent-mindedly along her back, echoing Raymond's habitual touch in crowded locations. "Are you sure you want to go alone?"

Liz added a touch of indecisiveness into her voice. "I don't know who I can trust right now, Tom."

"Give it some time," he advised gently, and brushed his fingers against hers. "But think about who was there when you needed them the most." She said nothing, but gently ran her fingers down his wrist and squeezed.

The jet was similar enough to Raymond's that she froze momentarily, lost in memories of all of the trips of the last six months. Then she calmly took her seat and waited until they were airborne to finally tell the pilot their destination. Berlin had the same standard procedure as Raymond; each flight was completely unregistered, with transponders turned off and bizarre flight paths avoiding all regulated airspace that would panic at the unidentified radar blip. That had been her first request of William Price. He had been able to use his vast influence to allow them to fly directly east above a number of military installations while being ignored by their control towers. The pilot, the only other person on the plane, joked nervously about being labeled a "UFO".

Eventually they left American airspace for the vast reaches of ocean. They reached London airspace by mid-morning local time, this time passing through under the protection of Berlin's people. Liz promised the pilot to return to the plane within six hours, cleared customs easily with a Berlin-supplied passport, and disappeared into the airport crowds. It took an hour of dodging on and off the Tube and through a number of busy fast food restaurants, but she finally ditched the surveillance men Berlin had promised not to send, as well as the last of Reddington's loyal staff. When she determined she was well truly all on her own, she set off on step three via train.

Two hours later, she reached the train station in Cardiff, Wales, and retrieved one of her emergency kits stored there in an anonymous locker by one of Reddington's people long ago. She rented a car with her new credit card and ID, and set off for the long and arduous drive up the coast to Scotland. She reached the sweet little tourist town by dusk, when her jet lagged stomach insisted it was time for lunch. She found the ferry waiting down by the dock and its captain contemplating the sea while smoking a cigarette. He smiled when he saw her with honest delight.

"Mrs. Tennant! I did not expect you to return again so soon! Will your husband be joining you shortly?"

"Not this trip," Liz replied. "Can you take me over to the island now? I need to retrieve something tonight," she added when his expression turned doubtful.

"Not the finest weather, but I daresay we'll have an easy enough crossing. Are you ready to depart, Mrs. Tennant?" She decided that the ferry ride would be better survived on an empty stomach, anyway. William Price had set a forty-eight hour limit on his tolerance, and that deadline was rapidly approaching when their deal would be voided. Halfway across the sea she realized she didn't have a key to the Abbey. Peter had a bad habit of never locking all of the doors, anyway. With good luck she would reach the target of her worldwide journey within the hour.

The rains started halfway up the steep incline of steps. She cursed her bad luck out loud as the first of the fat icy drops pounded through the thin clothes she had picked for New Mexico weather. Luckily Peter forgot to turn out the lights in the Abbey as often as he forgot to turn on the outside security lights; she was able to follow the beams shining through the downstairs windows through the soggy gardens to reach the main entrance. Her first stop in the house was the upstairs apartment for a dry change of clothes. Then she detoured through the kitchen for any easily portable snacks to take with her towards her final destination.

She dropped the tray of crackers and soda on a cleared area of table and immediately turned to the one area of the library she had not yet explored. Boxes were stacked haphazardly on top of each other under layers of dust. She wondered if Raymond had ever intended to sort out this part of his collection or if they had been deliberately neglected. She grinned in triumph suddenly as her theory proved correct.  He wouldn't have given the box any hint of its importance by giving it secured storage in a proper facility.

The box she sought was the fifth one in the cardboard collection Liz had opened and examined. She started plowing through the files, now yellowing with age and home to a number of pincher bugs and other yucky insect residents.  She didn't stop to read any of the files, but perused enough to confirm by the names and places mentioned this box held the secrets Raymond had hinted at once in a letter. She had memorized the phone number Mr. Price had given her to reach him directly. She dialed it now.

Within two rings he answered. "You have the box, Agent Keen?"

"On the floor in front of me for another five minutes," she answered. "Then we're both on the move again. Try anything and this box is destroyed."

"I understand, Agent Keen," Mr. Price replied smoothly. "But I have no interest in the majority of the box's contents. There is a metal object in the box. Have you found that yet?"

Liz poked down between the files and the sides of the container. Her fingers struck cold metal. She pulled out a small object and held it up for examination. It was roughly the size and shape of a pen, but here understanding stopped. Her brows furled as she tried to guess its purpose.

"What is this?" she asked with honest curiosity.

"Its purpose is meaningless to you. You can think of it as a key, that offers freedom for your companions. Mr. Reddington is in the room with me now, Agent Keen. He wishes to speak with you privately."

"No," Liz insisted. "Tell Reddington I won't ever give him another opportunity to lie to me again. I'm only going to speak with you, Mr. Price, and you may not like what you're about to hear."

Mr. Price had grown used to agreeable people; it took him a minute to realize her rebellion, and his first response was astonishment and some admiration. Then he returned to business. "Your companions' safety relies on my satisfaction with our deal."

"You have to understand I don't care about the safety of that cheating son of a bitch and his girlfriend right now. You don't seem to realize how very easy it would be for me to rapidly and permanently disappear, and how badly I want to do that right now." she answered with the clipped tones of fury. "And this object seems pretty easy to melt down into a useless blob, or drop in the middle of the ocean or Mount Doom, whatever I decide is the best way to make it disappear. I think I'm holding the winning cards right now, Mr. Price, and I want to renegotiate."


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Everyone is on the move.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What was I thinking, running a story during planting season? I'm typing with one hand and shoving seeds in the ground with the other.
> 
> For those of you in the northeast about to be snowed in - I'm sorry down here in Florida we're complaining about our 'cold snap' of 60 degrees. You get to laugh at us from May through September when its 95 and swampy and the ugly ginormous palmetto bugs all come inside to cool off in the air conditioning.

"What do you want from me, Agent Keen?" Mr. Price asked calmly. He glanced towards the other occupant of the room, who was doing his best to cover up the anguish caused by the caller's earlier words. Red had taken to the only chair in the office with his head bowed slightly and fingers tapping on his legs in a frantic rhythm. 

Liz took a deep breath. "For a start, I will warn you that you're not the only potential customer I've contacted. If I don't like what you offer me, I know of someone else I'm sure that will make me a good deal."

"The man you refer to as Berlin," Mr. Price confirmed. Red had maintained the silence that had been the condition of his remaining in the room during the call. But when he heard his enemy's name he gasped in horror. Price ignored him. "Are you aware that it was he and not I responsible for your recent abduction?"

"Agent Ressler told me that," Liz admitted. "But that doesn't make me trust you any more than I did. After all, it was only a matter of time before you made your move, right, Mr. Price? Berlin just got to us first. I'm hanging up in less than a minute. Make your offer."

Mr. Price glanced towards his distraught guest. "Please, Agent Keen. My plane can reach any destination on Earth within five hours. Name a location and time, and let us speak privately before you reach out to this Berlin."

"Fly into London," she countered. "When you land, call this number and I will give you a specific address and time." William Price clicked off his phone and laid it carefully centered in the middle of his otherwise barren desk. Then he waved his hand to gain the attention of the personal attendant outside watching the room via camera feed. When the young man entered, Price requested his favorite jet be prepared for immediate departure.

As he completed his chores, his guest was growing even more agitated. Red had abandoned his seat to take the few steps needed to cross the smallish office to plant his palms on the immaculately polished desk and lock William Price under a warning glare. "If you harm her you will answer directly to me."

Mr. Price's response to Reddington's angry outburst was a resigned shrug. "I will do whatever is necessary to ensure this situation will end with that object returned to my possession." He showed no further interest in his guest and his incredulous reaction. He picked up a small leather satchel and began loading in papers and other items from the tidy reaches of his desk. "It appears as if you no longer have material interest in these dealings, Mr. Reddington, nor your companions. I will arrange for you to be transported to the main airport facility above ground, with your promise that you will not disclose the location or nature of this facility. Please understand, failure to keep this promise will result in severe consequences for all members of your party."

Red didn't move. "Swear to me you will make the deal with Elizabeth. Do not let her make any other arrangements with Berlin."

This caused some interest for William Price; enough to pause on his exit towards his office door. "I assume you have some history with this Berlin? That name is unfamiliar to me."

"If you have some knowledge of the Alliance, than you have heard of Berlin as well. He doesn't use his proper name anymore since it gained such notoriety twenty years ago," Red replied wearily.

Mr. Price thought for a moment, then nearly smiled as he made a surprised connection. "He calls himself Berlin now? I believed he was dead after..."

"So did we all." Red interrupted roughly.

William Price merely nodded again and shouldered his packed satchel. "I will retrieve the object from Agent Keen. There will be no reason for her to contact Berlin. Good-bye, Mr. Reddington." As soon as the office door was opened, Mr. Price was immediately flanked by his entourage of assistants and guards. Within minutes Red was alone except for one last guard, who had been assigned to ensure all three visitors were safely and promptly escorted from the base.

The guard agreed readily to a detour at the hospital before departing the base. Apparently even Mr. Price's organization had gossip, Red mused, as a quick flash of amusement danced across the otherwise somber guard's expression. He had already been popularly labeled as the injured woman's lover courtesy of his overnight stay in her room. Lizzie's cutting words would probably travel far and wide as well; even Mr. Price had winced slightly at the bitterness of her tone. He had hoped that reputation would earn him a few minutes alone with Elenna for some final directions before his departure.

Elenna had improved remarkably in the short time since he had left her side. That was the one piece of good news so far today, he thought grimly under his broad fake smile. She was dressed and sitting on the edge of her bed, sipping the mug of hot coffee she had begged and pleaded for against the advice of her doctors. Ressler was in the chair where Red had spent the night, leaning forward and recounting some long anecdote when Red burst into the room with bounteous false cheer.

"Elenna, my dearest, how are you feeling?" He embraced her briefly, whispering urgently in her ear during the seconds when secret words were possible. He pulled back to catch her solemn nod.

"I'm fine, really," she answered with a bright sheepish smile. "Agent Ressler and I have been talking. Apparently I'm going to be released shortly. We'll catch a plane upstairs back to Washington and be home this afternoon."

"She'll stay at my place tonight so I can keep an eye on her," Ressler added firmly. This brought the first hint of honest good feeling for Red. They must have finally talked, he surmised. But he only had a few minutes and so he returned to business.

"Agent Keen is aware of our relationship," he announced to Elenna, with a short glance to Don to share his perturbation at his part of that disclosure. "As you can imagine she is quite angry with the both of us. She has taken over all negotiations with Mr. Price with the insistence I am no longer involved in what has become her personal business," he continued. Both agents flinched at the feeling he couldn't conceal under his flowing language. "My presence is no longer needed here, so I will be returning alone to my own concerns."

"Good luck to you, Red," Ressler offered with a finality that was countered by his companion's sympathetic half smile.

"I'll talk to you soon, Raymond," she said with a gentleness that surprised both men. Red offered a few more meaningless terms then was escorted by the guard from the room towards his own plane now waiting in the general aviation section of the main airport above ground.  

William Price was true to his word on this account; after traversing several long corridors and switching elevators, Red found his own jet parked at a convenient location, with his own pilot and Dembe assuring him they had been treated quite well during the last twenty-four hours. This was crunch time; he took the phone directly from Dembe to make several calls himself. His plane could never reach the same speeds as Mr. Price's, but if he couldn't be there on time himself, he could call in enough favors to put several of the best people on the hunt in London for Elizabeth. By the time Red's plane landed, she should already be in his people's custody and ready to talk.

 

 

"What the hell was that?" Don demanded as soon as Red, and presumably all other illicit listeners were gone.

"Come on, you can't tell the man's heart is broken?" she smacked him on the arm. "It's your fault, too, with the stupid half-baked jealous stories you told Liz. Let's go catch a plane." She wasn't going to repeat Red's whispered directions until they were safely somewhere far out of the range of William Price.

She said nothing as they departed the hospital building, winding between large building under the rocky sky towards the facility exit. Don wondered how someone so usually verbose couldn't manage even a minor exclamation at the wondrous sight, but she kept her eyes focused ahead on her own goals and maintained silence throughout their travels through the base. Once they reached the correct address, it was only a matter of a slightly long ride in a normal enough elevator before they found themselves in the middle of the boring sections of Denver International Airport. Their guard had thoughtfully provided boarding passes for the next flight back to DC as well as false IDs good enough to get them on their flight; both of them had lost track of their badges and other belongings back at the motel. On their arrival in DC, a call to the Post Office would get them rides home, but both would now have to waste hours in line or on hold replacing the contents of their wallets and keys.

It wasn't until they were both seated in cattle class and airborne on a typical overpacked airline flight that Elenna repeated Red's words in her ear that morning.

"If Liz meets with Price, he will kill her." She sighed, wishing the flight attendants would hurry up already with the drinks and hand her coffee before attempting the explanation Don was anxiously waiting for. "Before he flew out yesterday he passed me a note he had prepared just in case, detailing a few things. He knew why Price wanted to meet with him. Roughly twenty-four years ago, Red had come into possession of some kind of object as well as a box filled with other secrets he wasn't going to tell me about now." She nodded as he did the mental math. "Yep, apparently there are large parts to his story we were never informed about. Red did a little research. Anyone else who had ever known about the object mysteriously disappeared, courtesy of Mr. Price. So he kept the box hidden away and tried to forget about it, until now."

"He went to Denver when Price contacted him, knowing what would happen?" Don was dumbfounded. If he had one constant universal rule in his working life, it was that he could always rely on Reddington choosing the way that would save his own pathetic ass and screw everyone else.

"That's why we met those times," Elenna explained with some justifiable self-righteousness. "Liz knew about the box and what to do with that. He needed to trust someone else with some other secrets.. about protecting her."

"You and not me?"

Elenna snorted in derision. "Do you seriously think he'll ever trust you when Liz is concerned? With the way you mope around under that big crush of yours, I'm surprised he hasn't shot you yet. Anyway, we weren't having some kind of creepy love affair, and seriously, that idea is so wrong in so many ways I can't even go there without shuddering. Ew."

"He's got some kind of feelings for you, Davidson," Ressler argued. "And you were getting cozy last night."

"God, I'm glad you're an amazing field agent in many ways, because you truly suck at the profiling part," she rolled her eyes. "Res, I was born on August 8, 1983. Think back and tell me why that date would be familiar to you."

The date did seem like something he should know. He rolled it around in his memory for a little while and came up blank. "Oh, boy. Second hint; red hair runs in his family."

"That's his daughter's birthdate!" Don exclaimed suddenly. "Oh...you're not..."

"Don't go all conspiracy on me.  My mom has hours of video back when I was a little pooper in diapers.  But I'm the exact same age as his daughter, and I probably look something like what he imagines she would now. Doesn't take a pysch degree to figure out what affect that may have on his feelings towards me, and we know someone who was an excellent profiler with a very close relationship to Red. Liz doesn't believe the affair bullshit."

"But Red thinks she believes it. She's using that to manipulate the situation," Don ran with the theory. "She's stringing Price along and what, maybe Berlin as well."

"I hope not," Davidson bit her lip. Red hadn't given her permission to tell Ressler anything, but forgiveness would probably come on the heels of saving Liz. "That's part of the secret Red confided in me. She doesn't know if Berlin recognizes her by the scar on her hand, he will kill her on sight, too. We can't ever let them ever meet in person."

"We'll never reach London in time," Ressler frowned. "He'll have to do this on his own."

"Or Lizzie is going to have to win at the game she's playing," Elenna replied.


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Liz and Red have a talk.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had the best of intentions of finishing this before the season restart, but no... I think there's two more chapters to go after this. We've all got better things to do Sunday and next Thursday night, so I'll post the next chapter Tuesday night, then the last one the next Monday.
> 
> Thanks again for all of the comments and kudos! I love that I can have so much fun writing this - and then other people have fun reading it.

All Liz knew for sure that the room in which she was imprisoned was large and she was alone in it.

Sometimes she could catch sounds coming from far away; once she was sure she heard a car engine, other times it was the creaks and cracks of old wood settling just like she remembered late in the night at the Abbey. As the men who had roughly zip-tied her to the chair abandoned her to her fate, their footsteps echoed in the vast open space. Thanks to the opaque hood fastened tightly over her face and eyes she couldn't tell if the room was dark or light, but it offered a very faint odor of paint and oil, leading her to suspect she was now captive in an ancient unused warehouse.

The hood had been her first hint of trouble. Liz thought she had been overly cautious by strictly keeping to public sidewalks and busy restaurants after her late afternoon arrival in London. She had abandoned the rental car and remained constantly on the move, even separating the battery from the burner phone in case William Price could somehow track her using it. But just as she was about to cross a wide busy street, a nondescript SUV slammed on its breaks in front of her and two men jumped out. One grabbed roughly grabbed her arms behind as the other pulled the hood over her head and shoved her into the back of the car. Neither spoke a word despite her furious threats and exclamations. They spent a half hour weaving through the labyrinth of historical and bumpy London streets, far past the point she had lost track of their twists and turns and would never be able to identify her final location. Then they had dragged her through a set of doorways and corridors into this enormous empty room and fastened her securely to a simple wooden chair, and left her alone with her thoughts for what she estimated to be at least an hour.

Two new set of footsteps echoed as they approached, and Liz felt her muscles instinctively tighten in anticipation. This would be the start of the interrogation. She had gone back and forth in her mind wondering whose people had gotten to her, Berlin or William Price. Immediately after her call to Price she had dialed Tom to reassure him that she still fully intended to follow through on their original plan after her meeting with William Price. He had wanted to believe her, she knew, but now she suspected that he had not been able to convince Berlin to continue to trust her after her ditching of his security detail and her deviations from their agreement. Then again, it was entirely possible that William Price didn't like the idea of negotiating with her on their current terms, and sent his people to reposition her into a much worse bargaining position. Either way, she was the prisoner now of one of the angry sociopaths, and she had to admit to herself the coming discussion probably wasn't going to end well for her.

One set of footsteps ended in a position directly behind her, and the other a few paces in front. The man in back released the hood and her eyes were blinded by a brilliant light. She clenched her eyes shut with a grimace of annoyance as she pulled back and away from the sudden glare. The man in front of her said nothing and made no movements as he waited for her to regain her vision. The light wasn't sunlight; the room was pitch black outside the circumference of a ring of brilliant lamplight in which she was placed directly in the center. The man behind her took several steps backwards and disappeared into the darkness. The man in front stepped forward into the light and recognizable.

"We need to speak, Agent Keen," he declared. From out of the darkness behind him Reddington produced his own wooden chair and placed it opposite hers, leaving three feet of infinite gaping space between them. He crossed his legs, rested his clasped hands on his knee and waited for her response.

"Raymond?" she yanked at the thick plastic ties that bound both of her wrists to the arms of the chair. "What the hell are you doing?"

His eyes were expressionless as he tilted his head, studying her in a way she had seen him do in countless situations when she knew what he was thinking was the best way to undermine the enemy before him. "I have several questions for you, Agent Keen. I hope that you will be honest in your answers."

"Where is my phone? Price is going to call soon!" she writhed uncomfortably in the seat again.

He held up the phone with some distaste and wiggled it in his fingers. "First question, Agent Keen: do you intend to betray me to Berlin? I can see that you've been in contact with several unfamiliar numbers that I must assume are connected with his organization. Who have you talked to, Elizabeth?"  She searched his eyes desperately seeking some remaining spark of affection behind the coldness. Even at their very first meeting, when he had been the one locked to a chair with chains, he had been solicitous of her feelings. Now there was nothing.

She covered her disorientation with anger. "Of course I wouldn't betray you to Berlin!" Liz exclaimed. "Raymond, what happened? Let me out of this chair so we can talk!"

He shook his head calmly. "Not yet, Elizabeth. You still have some questions to answer first. Have you made any arrangements with Berlin?" Some feelings had arisen in his expression. She realized too late what she was seeing was pure fury directed at her.

"I was told the three of you were being held hostage in Denver. I made a deal with Berlin's people so that I could secure the object and and use it to negotiate with William Price. Of course I wasn't going to follow through with them." She kept trying to wriggle out of her restraints as she argued, but both efforts were useless.

He said nothing at first, just kept clenching and unclenching his fists as he leaned back his head to gaze into the dark space above their heads. "And you believed you would be able to outwit both Berlin and Price and walk away clean? Rather ambitious planning for a retired and barely adequate FBI agent."

Her eyes flashed at the insult. "Everything I did was to save you and my friends. William Price would have killed you if I hadn't acted, and you seem to have come out of this still alive, if now heartless."

He knelt down inches in front of her and leveled his eyes on hers. "Now he intends to kill you instead. Did you think that this is what I would have preferred, Elizabeth? Do you understand the extreme danger you have brought down upon yourself and countless others with your reckless behavior?"

"I acted based on the information I had at the time," Liz snapped back. "Maybe if I had been told everything I should have been told, I would have chosen differently. But I guess its just like the old times, Reddington, when you would hoard your secrets like buried gold and keep all of us running around and begging you for bits and pieces. I hoped maybe things would be different now, but nothing has really changed. Now let me go."

He rose again to his feet and turned away to gaze out into the darkness. "As I've told you numerous times, Elizabeth, I will keep information from you if possessing that knowledge potentially puts you in danger. I would have handled Mr. Price quite well on my own without your interference." He paused for a minute. "Who was your connection to Berlin?"

She bit her lip. "It was Tom. He found me after the attack at the hotel."

"Of course it was Tom." Red nearly snarled in his anger as his suspicion was confirmed. "What did he tell you, Lizzie? Did he confess his undying love for you? Swear his eternal loyalty if you return to his side?"

"No," she said firmly, but couldn't face Raymond directly when delivering what she knew was only a technically true answer. Tom had indeed never spoken those words, but he had made it clear enough with every wide-eyed gaze and heavy sigh what he would offer her if he thought she would accept.

Ruefully Raymond shook his head. "Then there was never a moment of temptation, Lizzie? You never felt an impulse to remember your happy past with fondness and imagine how blissful your life could now be had you not made certain controversial choices?" He had paced back and forth in front of her throughout his speech, surreptitiously observing her instinctive responses as she realized what he was implying.

"No, I never thought about going back to my ex-husband," she declared angrily. "I can't believe you would even suggest such a thing, when you are the one..." she bit back the end of the sentence.

"No, Lizzie, continue," he urged. He returned to his chair and leaned back with arms crossed. "What do you think I did?"

"I know about the times you met alone with Elenna," Liz replied immediately. "The meetings the two of you kept secret from me and Don. I was going to tell you everything about Tom, but somehow I don't believe you were ever going to tell me the truth about her."

"Damn it, Elizabeth!" In his intensity he jumped up and nearly tripped at her feet. "How could you ever believe we were having some kind of torrid affair!"

"I never believed you were sleeping with her!" Liz insisted. "But I could easily picture you manipulating her into all kinds of schemes. Ressler said you sent her a message, something that was very meaningful to her we didn't recognize. Were you blackmailing her?"

"You do think the worst of me," he announced grimly. She merely twisted her hands, emphasizing the ties that still fastened her tight to her chair.

He bit his lip, accepting the validity of her point. "You had clearly stated that you wouldn't have contact with me, Elizabeth. I had thought that we could clear up our differences with a few minutes of simple conversation. Apparently we cannot, but we still have some other business we have to work together to settle in the near future. If I release you, can I rely on your cooperation?"

"Can I rely on you to tell me all of the truth and treat me as a full partner?" she returned.

"We have less than thirty minutes until Price's plane will land." He produced a pair of wire cutters, and set her free within a minute. She rose to her feet, rubbing her hands and keeping several feet between them at all times. "Is the object in a secure location?"

"Yes, within a five minute drive of where your men abducted me." He motioned for her to follow him out of the darkened room, past a series of guards to another smaller chamber. Here was a de facto command center for the operation, complete with leftovers from the evening meal still spread out on a grimy wooden table. She refused any of the lukewarm fish and chips but accepted a bottle of water and drank gratefully. Even as he piled some leftovers onto a plate and poured himself a drink, Red kept her in constant direct view.

"What did you intend to ask for in exchange for the object? After your rather curt dismissal of me, he wouldn't have expected you to ask for my release," Red asked with some curiosity.

She shrugged. "I assumed he would release you and Elenna anyway if he thought you were worthless to me as trades. I planned to ask for Ressler to be released. Are they both okay?"

"Yes," he planned to fill her in on the details of their adventures if they ever had a chance to sit and chat about this again. But for now it was time to tell another tale. "Tell Mr. Price you want full protection from the Alliance in exchange for the object."

She caught the hesitancy in his voice. "What does that mean?" she asked.

He lowered his head. Even in the middle of a safe house filled with many of his best people, in a city he was sure was relatively empty of Alliance followers, he still hated saying the words out loud. "Elizabeth, I told you once what happened to my family when I shared this secret before. Are you willing to risk your own life, or your friends, for the privilege of knowing this secret? Would you instead please allow me to keep this burden to myself so that I don't have to worry even more about your safety?" This last part was said with some plaintiveness, as he allowed some of his fears to surface and make his plea for him.

She was quiet long enough he began to hope that she would agree. But then she shook her head. "Tell me."

He heaved a weary and defeated sigh, and dropped down to a seat at the table. "The Alliance is a group of high ranking leaders in several world governments and international corporations. They share the belief that the future stability of the world is at risk due to unbridled population growth. So they intend to cull the population of humanity through a variety of actions, starting in the near future with some kind of doomsday biological attack. The box you found on the island holds files that describe their plans in great detail."

"William Price is a member of the Alliance?" Liz knew there wasn't time for this conversation, but right now her need to hear truthfulness from Raymond outweighed any other concern.

"No, but he often works with them. The place he took us, Lizzie, it was a massive shelter built under Denver Airport under their orders, but when the time comes he doesn't intend to hand over the keys to the Alliance."

"So it would make sense we would want to secure a place there," The ringing of her burner let them both know that their time was up. "I still want to meet with him alone, Raymond, to make this deal."

"But my people will be available if you need protection," he insisted. He rested his hand on hers as she reached for the phone. "Dearest Lizzie, please understand that everything I have done has come out of my love for you. If I have erred, it has been out of my overwhelming concern for that which I hold dearest in my heart."

She could feel the coldest in her chest start to melt a little at his words, but it wasn't time for forgiveness yet. "We still have to talk," she said. "Tom said Berlin would tell me the truth you've withheld about my father."


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Negotiations with William Price and Berlin.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oy, I really thought this story would be done by now! Chapter 15 will finish the main story line, with Chapter 16 as an epilogue.
> 
> I went back and made a few little changes in Chapter 13 - just a couple of things I thought were a little awkwardly worded - no change to the story, but I think it flows better now.

"We don't have time for that conversation now, Lizzie," Raymond said as he handed her the buzzing phone. "I promise you we will discuss our differing viewpoints later."

She pursed her lips, then yanked the phone out of his hand and turned away as she answered brusquely. "Hello?"

"Good day, Agent Keen," William Price was indifferent to her angry greeting. "Do you have a location in mind?"

She had enumerated several potential meeting spots an hour ago when she knew her exact location in the city. Raymond saved her by jotting down a phrase on the corner of an abandoned newspaper. "There is a coffee shop just a block away from the London Eye. Meet me there in half an hour. Just you or I toss the object directly in the Thames."

"I strongly suggest you come alone as well," he replied readily and hung up. She turned to Red and pursed her lips at his pensive expression.

"You don't need to do this," he said, and she heaved a dramatic sigh as she plunked down her water bottle and rose from her seat. He continued pleading, "We can leave the city right after we drop that object in the middle of the crowds at Trafalgar Square. Please, Lizzie, I don't want you to go." He tried to block her exit from the room but she roughly pushed him to the side and brushed past. Doggedly he followed behind.

"Can I go, or are you going to tie me to the chair again?" she asked sarcastically. "If we run he'll just track us down again, or recapture Don and Elenna or maybe even someone else to blackmail us or get revenge. As long as he's getting what he wants from this deal I'll be fine."

Red gave up. "I have our old suite at the Hotel Corinthia. Please meet me there after your meeting," he instructed sullenly. He stopped at the front entrance of the warehouse, clearly fighting back the impulse to say more or have her dragged back inside again. She demanded car keys from the big burly men who followed her out to the street.

During their time in Europe the previous summer, they had spent several weeks in London. She had appreciated the historic sights and marvelous collections of modern and classic art, but she had found herself repeatedly drawn to the most distinctive landmark in the city and knew how to reach that area of town well enough now.  Thanks to both the lateness of the evening and the guidance of the GPS system, Liz was able to readily find parking near the Eye. It was a simple matter to retrieve the object from the storage locker she had rented earlier that day. She strolled into the coffee shop twenty-eight minutes after hanging up her phone and quietly surveyed the few knots of clientele. She guessed immediately from catching a few words in their conversations they were all fellow Americans staying at the nearby hotel. She chose an empty table with a good view of the street and waited for her guest.

Mr. Price arrived alone and unremarked by the other patrons. His face was famous but rather non-distinctive, so by wearing a simple polo and khakis and traveling far from his normal environment, he had made himself unlikely to be recognized by anyone casually catching a glimpse. He recognized Liz immediately, crossed the shop directly to her chair and held out his hand in greeting.

"Agent Keen, I am pleased to meet you!" he offered politely before taking his seat. "I hope your stay in London so far has been pleasant. I've enjoyed several visits to the city in the past."

"It's been quite charming," she replied shortly.

"I'm glad. I would like to conclude out business quickly if we may, Agent Keen. I have other tasks to see to tonight. Is the object with you?"

"It is conveniently placed," she demurred. "I will be able to hand it over after we come to a final agreement on terms."

"Please state your terms." He folded his hands on the table and waited patiently.

She paused. "First, please confirm for me that Agents Ressler and Davidson have been released."

He nodded. "They exited my facility over six hours ago. I believe they are safely at home in DC. If you wish, you may contact them directly and confirm this." She already had, during her drive towards the meeting site. Both of them were now at the Post Office, waiting for her all-clear after her dealings were finished to leave the highly secured site. "Mr. Reddington has left my premises as well," Mr. Price continued.

She showed a flicker of anger at the name which Price either didn't notice or ignored. "I have two requests. First, I want all of the information you have about the Alliance and its reach into the American government."

"Mr. Reddington already has most of that information, but I can provide you more updated files," Mr. Price agreed. "What is your second condition?"

"I want all of the information you have on Berlin and his operation," Liz was surprised by the intensity of his reaction. William Price took a sip of his tea to cover his own intense discomfort.

"Agent Keen," he said finally. "I had never heard of this Berlin before my conversation with you earlier today, but I have been unpleasantly surprised by what I have learned since. I feel that I am not the appropriate person from whom you should learn either his origins or intentions. I will agree to your first condition, but not the second. Please give me the object."

The fulcrum was small enough to fit in the pocket of her jacket. She withdrew it slowly, half-expecting bullets to fly as soon as she laid the object into Price's waiting hand. He held it tightly, exhaling softly in an entirely unexpected fervent display of relief. "I've waited twenty-eight years to hold this again," he declared as he caressed his fingers with reverence over the length of the strangely shiny metal. He glanced up to Liz again and smiled suddenly. "I've no doubt you would like to know exactly what this is, but I'm afraid I must disappoint you, Agent Keen. But I will tell you that this item," he raised his hand with the object clasped inside for emphasis, "will soon play its role in reuniting me with someone I care very much about. You remind me of her, Agent Keen."

"Are we finished?" Liz asked, when her survival instinct won out over her curiosity about his personal disclosure.

"You are in no danger from me, Agent Keen," he assured her, with his eyes still fastened on his newly reacquired possession. "I would like to engage your company for some time longer if you would indulge me."

He called over the server to order a pot of tea for the two to share. When they had been served, after he had detoured slightly into a brief chat about Americans and their travel habits, he returned to his previous topic. "With your knowledge of my history, you must have assumed that you were risking your life to engage in negotiations with me over this object." He waited for her to nod with some trepidation. "But despite your perceived risk you came, and that impresses me. I ask that you allow me to offer you some advice before you leave, Agent Keen."

Liz's intrigue was growing as her fear diminished. "What do you have to say?" she asked.

"First, Agent Keen," William Price motioned with his tea cup. "Be wary of Berlin and the Alliance. They both have reasons and methods to manipulate you. Trust Reddington's judgement in these matters."

"Trust Reddington?" she smirked in spite of herself. "That's not so easy these days."

"I will not insert myself into your personal affairs," William Price deflected politely. He motioned for the check. "Very difficult times are coming to this world, Agent Keen, at a much faster pace than we had expected. As an addendum to our deal I can offer you and Mr. Reddington some additional information that will be helpful in your efforts against the Alliance, and I can assure you that when the need arises you and your companions will be welcomed in my sanctuary at the airport. But now our business for tonight is ended, and I will wish you a good evening." He rose from his seat and offered his hand as a final gesture.

"Why am I so important?" Liz demanded suddenly.

Mr. Price paused. "Because we know you are the only one who can stop the coming war with the Alliance."

 

 

Reddington did not follow Liz to her meeting. He told himself that he was now situated far enough away to be declared in a different location altogether and not hovering at all. The cold fish and chips at the warehouse had piqued a mood for British cuisine, and he had found a charming local pub more than five blocks away from the coffee shop where Liz was conducting her business. He distracted himself with a pint and the view of the TVs mounted above the bar. The sound was muted, and would have been useless anyway since the pub was a sea of fans running their own loud and colorful commentary on the televised match. Every fifteen minutes, one of his local men would come in and whisper to him their observations on the negotiations inside the coffee shop. He had people stationed throughout the street, armed and ready to make their moves when Price's people would make theirs. Lizzie would be protected.

"You know that the Patriots are playing tonight? Think we can get the bartender to change the channel?" The voice in his ear immediately brought Red's hand into his jacket to grip his most conveniently placed weapon.

"I'll kill you where you stand, Tom," Red muttered without releasing either his grip on his pint or the weapon.

Tom Keen smiled as he patted Red on the shoulder. "C'mon, Red, you don't want to kill me until you hear what I have to say. You are a Pats fan, right? They seem like your kind of team to me." He ordered a pint himself and settled into the booth across from the older man. Dembe's head popped into view several booths away to be waved down by his friend.

"What do you want?" Red demanded.

Tom shrugged. "The same thing you want. Liz. We should be working together tonight to get her away from William Price."

"I won't make a deal with you, Tom. Not about her." Red tossed a couple of bills on the table to cover his drink and slid out of the booth. He tightened his coat around him in the chill of the English evening and strolled off in a random direction. He was right; within a few minutes the younger man caught up to him and fell in step.

"Reddington," Tom huffed out at their quick pace. "She's going to find out eventually that Berlin is her father. How do you think she'll feel when she finds out you've been hiding the truth from her all this time?"

"Liz understands that I will do whatever is necessary to keep her safe. When did you find out she is his daughter?" Tom had originally been sent to guard Liz only as one of many possible means of tracking down Reddington, since his interest in the girl had risen to become a topic of discussion in the criminal community. Red's greatest fear during the span of their marriage was that Tom would leap to the realization that Berlin's presumed dead daughter was still alive and well and within reach.

"The scar on her hand," Tom shared his story willingly and with some pride. "I've just recently reached a high enough level of achievement to learn about the existence of the symbol and its meaning."

Red scoffed at the thought. Berlin promised the eager followers of his cult 'higher knowledge' with every step completed; usually completing a step involved something nefarious and dangerous, or at least expensive for the less hands-on members. "She was branded with a red-hot iron, Tom," Red snapped at the younger man. "Your wife, the woman you claimed to have loved, was tortured as a young child for the sake of that man's fairy tales and you think that is fine?" Liz didn't have the mark at the time of the house fire. Sam had only known that it had happened while they had been separated for a few days in her teens, and she had refused to discuss it at all with him until she started claiming she couldn't remember what had occurred.

Tom continued with eyes blazing with the passion of his beliefs. "Liz is special, Reddington. She was born for a higher purpose than all of us. Her father could teach her how to use her talents for the good of humanity."

"Kumbaya, Tom," Red replied wearily. He had gotten so many doses of this spiel during his investigation into Berlin's tight-knit sect so many years ago. Not much had changed in the intervening decades, except the innocent young girl at the focus of their messianic fanaticism had suddenly disappeared into safety from her father's home. "I will not permit her to leave with you nor meet with Berlin."

"How much firepower are you willing to use, Red?" Tom asked with a smile. "Because Berlin is willing to do whatever it takes to bring his daughter home."

"I'm willing to do whatever it takes to protect Lizzie," Red announced truthfully, and fired a shot directly between Tom's eyes.


	15. Chapter 15

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Liz and Red have a talk.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One more chapter to go next Monday!
> 
> Many, many thanks to the wonderful people who have taken the time to write comments and send kudos - you bring great joy into my life! After this story is complete, it will be back to slogging for months to finish the new book, all by my lonesome self without any outside feedback at all until its ready to be gruesomely attacked by an editor. This online writing is definitely more fun!!!!
> 
> Time to reiterate, I guess. I don't own any characters except Mr. Price and Agent Davidson. 
> 
> Dear show executives: Price and Elenna are both available for purchase at reasonable rates if you are interested - call me! :)

Shooting Tom had been a spur of the moment idea that Reddington assumed that he probably should regret, but he didn't.

Though he didn't have any time to ponder his feelings; before the body had fully crumpled to the ground Red was backing away in preparation for the coming retaliatory fire from Berlin's people. Thankfully there were no witnesses to deal with: the street had been empty at the time of the shooting, and the few people within earshot had had the sense to race off and pretend they had heard nothing out of the ordinary. When a pair of men raced into the alley with weapons drawn in response to the gunfire, Red was ready and picked both off cleanly as they raced into view.

He turned on his heel and kept moving, dodging from one alley to the next, trying to remain ahead of the men he knew would be following and keep to a trail that would eventually lead back to the coffee shop and Lizzie. During his trek, he had only two coherent thoughts beyond point and shoot. He was exceedingly grateful that he could rely on Dembe to abandon him to hustle down the street to take charge of Lizzie's protection instead, and that his friend was also a fierce firearms instructor who had patiently but stubbornly nagged his employer into regular practice to maintain his highly honed and reliable aim. He never had time to fire more than once at each of the men who popped up along his journey, but Red didn't need to take any extra shots.His own team of security men encircled him within minutes of the first volleys of gunfire, and the London street erupted into war. Red was able to ease his way out of the action, ditching his jacket and hat in order to blend in with the crowds of confused locals and visitors who were now milling around the plazas of the tourist area, unsure of what was happening or how to respond.

The coffee shop was as deserted as he expected to find it amidst the chaos outside. A few of his own men stationed by the doorway relaxed when they saw their boss approach unharmed. One nodded towards the back of the unlit coffee shop. As soon as he had arrived and found Liz camped out in expectation of his arrival, Dembe had directed her into the kitchen area at the rear of the building for additional protection. Now after Red called out his identity so that Dembe would unblock the door, he found her lounging at the manager's desk, arms crossed, with relief and anger fighting for dominance in her expression.

She declared somberly, "Mr. Price departed fifteen minutes ago."

"With the object?" Red touched her arm gently, hoping she would allow him to lead her out the rear entrance of the shop towards the car that had been stationed there in case of this kind of situation. At this point he couldn't care less about the deal she had struck with that man. Lizzie was safe and at least speaking with him again, and anything else he gained from their business transaction was merely extra icing on the cake.

"With the object," she confirmed. She let him guide her by the elbow through the dimly lit crowded work area, with Dembe directly behind her on guard. The fighting had stopped; now the air was filled with the high pitched whirl of British police car and ambulance sirens. That scene was no longer his concern. Red always allowed his teams to create their own explanatory stories in situations like these, when the truth of why they were fighting would create too much of a nuisance for him. Then through an intermediary, he would pay their bail and lawyer fees for the few unlucky men who couldn't slip away from the scene in time, and generous extra benefits if they stuck to the deal and kept his name out of the proceedings.

The car was as luxuriously sized as a London street could handle; not his favorite style, but good enough that he could stretch out a little without bumping too much into his companions. "What happened?" Liz asked finally.

He frowned. "Let me tell you over drinks in the suite," he suggested brightly.

She bit her lower lip, knowing full well what that meant and dropped back into silence for the rest of the ride. The hotel was one of her favorites from their travels in Europe, featuring classic design with excellent service and lovely views. Dembe had retrieved her emergency suitcase from the plane, giving her a choice of outfits to wear after her immediate retreat to the luxurious soaking tub and a block of silent time of reflection. But she couldn't decide on anything so instead she just wrapped herself in one of the soft embracing hotel robes and padded off barefoot directly to the sitting room, where she assumed Raymond would be waiting with drinks.

He smiled when he saw her, the same frank and open admiring smile he had used on her from the very beginning that had always made her heart thump even before she realized what that thumping signified. That smile cut through him like the eye of a hurricane, digging straight down through all of the stormy clouds that always obscured him straight down to the true emotions of the man inside. "Dearest, are you warm enough?" he asked when he took in her apparel. "Its a bit damp and chilly tonight. Would you like me to start a fire perhaps?"

"What happened?" she asked again. He continued on to the fireplace, fluttering about intent on his task, as she picked up the drink waiting for her on the coffee table and sipped. Irish coffee, decaf but still delicious and comforting. During their time in Stevonia, every evening he had experimented with mixes and recipes for hot drinks for her until she declared the current blend the winner. "Raymond?  Will you tell me what happened this evening?"

He stood up and wiped his hands absent-mindedly on his trouser legs. He was still dressed in his clothes from the evening's adventures. "Yes, I will, but I can best do that by placing these events within their larger context. But first tell me, Lizzie, do you believe that I have been truthful with you?"

She set her cup down gingerly and pulled her legs up on the sofa with her arms around her knees. "I believe you never tell me a direct lie. But I want better than that, Raymond. I know you are trying to protect me," she cut off the start of his usual self-defense. "But I don't want to be protected, I want you to trust me with the truth. I want you to tell me everything, no holding back or sugar-coating. I deserve that, and I can handle it, Raymond."

"You will be angry with me, I fear," he admitted.

"Maybe," she agreed. "Maybe I'll be very angry. But that would be better than always running two steps behind you and pretending I'm right at your side. So go ahead, tell me your story."

He took the seat on the sofa next to her, wringing his hands in his lap and hoping that the six inches now between them would not shortly become the closest she would ever come in the future. "I have done some things, Lizzie, without your knowledge and likely without your approval, based on knowledge I have striven to keep from you. I know much more about Berlin than I have revealed to you."

She shrugged. "I thought so. Tom said he could have told me the name and location of my father. He's still alive somewhere." Liz watched his mouth closely as she spoke, and lost her final shred of hope when his lips twitched with instinctive revulsion. "Who is my father, Raymond? Is he alive?"

"Berlin is your father, Lizzie," the words made their way slowly from one end of the sofa to the other, as heavy as bricks but yet somehow still hovering in the air around her.

"I see," she said when she couldn't think of anything else to say. She stared down at the cup on the table, trying to keep something in her life remaining still and reliable. His eyes softened as he noted the first tears forming in hers. He reached out his hand but stopped several inches from her leg, realizing she wasn't ready for that type of contact yet.

"You know I was there the night of the fire," he said finally. She nodded slightly. They had never discussed that evening since their one confrontation about the burn scars the previous summer. "I've only known he was your biological father for the last few weeks. I knew your father before he took the name Berlin, after the events of that evening when the world believed he had perished in that fire. Your father ... was not a good man, Lizzie." His voice had grown softer and hesitant as his story grew more difficult to voice.

She leaned forward and urged him on. Raymond had to turn away from her eager expression to order to continue. "He had this ridiculous, grandiose mythology he created about himself as a messianic figure. He believed such strange things, but yet he gathered a number of followers. He was a very wealthy and successful man, and it seems people will believe nearly anything if it comes out of the mouth of the rich and famous. I was assigned to investigate him and attend one of his meetings. What I learned there was horrifying in many ways, but the most ... evil ... of his ideas was his plans for you." He stopped with a grimace of anguish at the words that would comprise the next sentence of his tale. "Please don't make me tell you what he planned for you, sweetheart." he begged earnestly.

"Did you start the fire?" Liz asked instead.

He nodded. "It was meant as a distraction. I couldn't find another way to get you out of that house before he could act on his plans. It was widely believed that both you and your father perished in the fire. Everyone else escaped. I was the only person to receive serious injuries," he shrugged at the justice of this. "He has continued his little cult as Berlin. He had learned you survived some time ago, but only recently discovered your identity."

"Because of Tom?" Liz had slipped into agent mode, taking in the information he offered as she would any interrogation, firmly pushing any personal feelings far away until all of the pieces were in place. Later on, she knew, she was going to be very angry at the men behind these schemes, but this was not the time.

Raymond sighed. "Yes, Tom recognized your scar as one of the brands your father used as a symbol in his little clan. During your teen years, you were found and marked by some members of his group. My people were able to rescue you and have you safely returned to Sam and the both of you relocated." He paused for a drink to steel his nerves, then continued reluctantly, "Tom was one of Berlin's disciples. He was following you hoping to talk you into willingly returning to your father so that the so-called 'holy rites' could finally be consecrated over twenty years later."

"So you killed Tom tonight?" she asked calmly. He blinked in surprise, and she reached out and gently brushed her fingers against the neck of his shirt. A few tell-tale blood spots still dotted his lapel and collar.

"He gave me the opportunity and ample reason, so I did. Are you very angry with me, Lizzie?" he asked cautiously and braced himself for the explosion.

"No," she replied honestly. "Except maybe I would have liked to have done that myself. I knew he was planning something the entire time we were together yesterday, the bastard." She finished the last of her drink and nestled back into her corner of the sofa. "I guess I understand why you haven't told me all of this before."

He relaxed as well as her tone grew more complacent and he felt forgiveness was now a possibility he could hope for again. "This is why you met with Elenna those times, isn't it?" she added suddenly.

"Yes, I wanted someone I could trust implicitly to keep the secret and be able to protect you if I ever became unavailable," he shrugged as she stiffened. "I regret that my actions caused such a rift between us, Lizzie. You never need question my loyalty to you, my dearest."

"I never questioned that," she contradicted. "Who sent you to investigate my father?"

"The Alliance. We were both members at the time. I renounced my membership when I learned the true extent of their plans, in December 1990." He fell silent again as the same old memories arose, the ones he still so often saw when he closed his eyes at night.

She reached out and touched his hand gently. "We don't need to go there tonight, Raymond. You've shared so much with me already and I am grateful for your honesty."

"Can I be forgiven?" he asked softly with his eyes cast down on her hand resting on his.

"You never needed my forgiveness," she answered with a loving squeeze of his hand. "Now I understand why you chose to withhold this information from me. I love you, Raymond, maybe even more now that I know what burdens you chose to carry alone for my sake."

He couldn't resist; he swept her up into his arms, clutching her to his chest while bestowing kiss after kiss between words along her cheeks and neck and anywhere else he could reach. "Dearest, I love you far more than I could ever express with simple words. Stay with me, Lizzie, promise me that you will stay with me forever and I will show you day after day that nothing else could ever mean more to me than my love for you."

"Of course," she answered simply, and finally captured his roaming lips with her own.

 


	16. Chapter 16

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Two couple make big steps forward.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The last chapter! Wow...
> 
> As I say that, there is a slight chance I will add a prologue within the next few weeks - the ideas are swimming in my head (along with lots of other random and odd detritus). But all serious-minded people should run away now while you have the chance - plot over, time for the fuzzy shippy stuff! 
> 
> The plot bunnies have floated the idea of a third and final part of the series - but only if I finish my book rough draft before the end of summer. (I'm up to the part where Mr. Price finally meets with Stasia, the reason for all of his years of plans and schemes, in his office under the airport - I kind of want to have a fedora resting on the corner of his desk.)
> 
> All my love and thanks to those of you who have stuck with me on this tale - you let me lead you down some strange and winding roads, and I am very grateful for your company.

The two weeks after their adventures with the fugitives were extremely hectic and frustrating for Agents Davidson and Ressler. Agent Cooper claimed to believe their story of finding and again losing Reddington's trail as their reason for both of them missing work for several days, but the smirks and half-hidden giggles among the rank and file staff of the Post Office were unmistakeable. Luckily no one at the office realized that at his insistence, she had spent the first night after their return at Don's apartment as the final stage of her recovery after the attempted poisoning at the black site outside Roswell. After the Red/Liz drama, everyone was a little prone to seeing illicit relationships springing up everywhere, no matter how unlikely the match, and the gossip was never the good-natured chatter of other offices. No matter how platonic their relationship, any overly personal contact between agents could result in an investigation, and neither Don or Elenna wanted to find themselves in Cooper's office squirming in their chairs under questioning.

The more irritating remnant of their adventures was their incredibly bad luck of having been separated from their luggage during their abduction from the hotel in Roswell. Despite pleading calls to the establishment's management, neither of them were able to retrieve any of their belongings, including their phones, wallets and ID badges. Aram was able to work his magic and remotely erase all of the data and call histories on their phones as a security precaution. Work badges were easy enough to replace in a lunchtime trip over to the J. Edgar Hoover building, but both were stuck wasting an entire afternoon together on the bothersome shlep to the DMV for replacement driver licenses. Elenna was extremely relieved she had not packed along her keys to her impeccably restored classic Mustang when Don had to have the locks and ignition on his car replaced. On top of all this, Red had the gall to send the office anonymous information about an awful 'lister that required them to spend several late nights together on the road or at the office, as well as two separate undercover operations at of all places, the opera house.

On Thursday, after the 'lister had been busted, interrogated, extradited, and they were down to mopping up the final little details, they bumped into each other in while on quick visits to their office, and agreed to meet up for pizza and beers at his place after work again. After their return from Denver and the flood of nagging little chores, they had started up a mini-tradition of evenings of delivery meals and DVR'd sporting events, where they could talk business if they needed to, or just lounge back and relax in the company of the only other person who could understand completely why they needed to zone out without judgement. Elenna's evening schedule usually only left room to indulge in the tradition on weekends, but a snowstorm was threatening, and her wussy Krav Maga sparring partner had bailed out on her for the evening. Don had readily agreed to pick up beverages along the route home, while she took care of calling in their pizza order.

Because it was simply impossible to sneak past Cooper's new secretary without getting stuck in her exuberant stream of gossip and giggles, by the time Elenna reached the apartment, the snow was already coming down, and Don was already in his favorite corner of the couch examining a large bottle of clear liquid.

"Is that going to explode?" she asked, and shrugged as she realized she had been somewhat serious in her query.

"It's vodka," he replied with a rueful grimace. "The really good stuff, along with a set of ridiculously fancy shot glasses. Look in the box there for the note that came with it." He pointed to the large cardboard box resting on the coffee table.

She complied, though a suspicious thought had already jumped to mind. The expensive slip of paper had only a couple of words written in scarlet ink.

"This is for sharing, Donald," she read out loud, and chortled with good humor. "Oh, hell, I sure don't mind drinking his liquor. Start pouring." She rinsed out the lovely new glasses, then settled back into her usual seat while he popped open the bottle and divvied out the first round.

They were three rounds in when the pizza arrived and in riotous good moods. They hadn't bothered to switch on any of the games he had recorded, but instead kept to light music and conversation during the meal, avoiding any discussion of their last case or Denver. Until she started giggling uncontrollably.

"What the hell is wrong with you?" he tried to pour out another drink but found himself having great difficulty in holding the now half-empty bottle still enough to fill the impossibly tiny little shot glasses. She helped him by putting her hand over his grip on the bottle. The warmth of her hand felt nice, so he held on to it once the bottle was safely back on the table. Don turned to see her grinning widely.

"That was a frigging huge secret base hidden away under a major international airport." she declared with drunken eagerness. "Who does that, really?  And I don't think he's even one of higher numbers on Red's list."

"We can't tell anybody else anything about what we saw there," his caution was automatic; even in his inebriated state he was pretty darn sure they were still under surveillance by a number of interested parties, and it would be a bad idea to reference out loud the owner of base in question.

She knew that too, but it didn't stop the continued giggles. "Come on, admit it, you started wondering about him, too," she said defiantly, turning in her seat to face her partner directly. Both were pretending to not realize their hands were still clasped together tightly on the couch between them. "Curiosity about his, let's say origins?  'Cause now I really do believe he's not from here," Elenna admitted.

"Not thinking about it," Don shook his head emphatically in response. "Not thinking at all," he added firmly, then suddenly shifted himself to lean forward to catch her unawares in a sudden and enthusiastic kiss. She responded quite happily by pushing him back into his corner of the couch and deepening the kiss as she clambered into a better position.

Some time later, when they finally broke for air, he gently brushed the loose strands of her hair away from his face and sighed contentedly. "Did we just get fixed up by Raymond Reddington?" he murmured with only good feelings towards his faraway enemy.

"Cupid in a fedora," she retorted, and then claimed his full attention again.

 

 

 

The last two weeks for Liz and Red had been busy.

They had departed London for the welcome sunshine and temperate weather of a sweet little villa on the southern coast of Spain. They had avoided all serious conversation at first to focus on simply enjoying the locale and each other. But then slowly they began to tackle some of the difficult issues their encounters with William Price and Berlin had raised.

One day they visited the historic and lovely city of Barcelona. They spent the entire day strolling unobservant past the beautiful architecture and charming scenes of the city to focus entirely on sorting through her questions on her own previously hidden history. Sometimes she grew angry at his answers and the words became hurtful, but they kept talking, and forgiveness eventually came with her understanding of his long-standing fears of what would happen to that innocent girl if she were ever rediscovered. By the end of the day the emotional wounds weren't yet healed, but the process had begun in earnest, and they were both willing to promise they would share with each other all of the time and love they would need for full recovery.

There was one last issue raised that they avoided until all other concerns had been addressed. Reluctantly Raymond agreed that they spent several days in Stevonia, so that Liz could sit down with the box he had long ago stolen and read through the plans it contained for Armageddon. William Price had followed through with his promise; she received via Red's network a simple manilla envelope filled with horrifying additional details of the timeline and specific events to look for as markers of the plan's progression. They had two years, he had estimated, before the culmination of the Alliance's grand scheme of destruction, and there was no conceivable way they could stop these events. William Price reiterated that he would honor his share of their deal with sanctuary when that bleak future arrived, but he would not allow any further contact between them until that time. Liz and Raymond studied each other's expressions after reading his message, and both announced their determination that absolutely nothing would stop them from finding some method to destroy the Alliance before they could follow through on their brutal agenda.

At breakfast one sunny morning in Lisbon, Raymond asked a question. They had risen late with the idea of a simple day spent on a slow paced drive through the countryside. Their breakfast table was set on the balcony of their suite, with a spacious vista of the city and the vibrant blue ocean beyond. He had been reading the front section morning paper, commenting on bits of interesting news as she sipped her coffee and let her mind wander.

"Lizzie?" he started hesitantly.

"Hmm?" she replied absently as she set down her cup and picked up her bagel. "I would like to make a request of you, sweetheart. Would you hear me out?" She nodded without much concern.

He paused. "This is reference to your legal name, Lizzie. I would like you to change it."

"You mean my last name?" she reiterated. When he nodded, she flushed slightly. They traveled under so many false names that she very rarely heard 'Keen' spoken anymore and so rarely thought about it. He had never questioned her why she had kept that name after Tom's disappearance in New York and she had had the marriage annulled; since that day she had been waiting for Raymond to indulge in his curiosity of what he must have been seen as a strange decision, but he had accepted her choice without question, even when all of the members of the Post Office team had at some point pulled her aside and gently urged her to change her mind for a variety of valid reasons.

She did have some personal reasons for that choice, but they were long ago and had since become moot. She agreed readily now that she would make the change. "Although it would be difficult for me to file the official paperwork now," she joked lightly.

He remained serious. "I have a name in mind for you, Lizzie. Would you consider becoming Elizabeth Reddington? I know that this name has become rather varnished in popular opinion," he continued as her expression first whitened, then blushed as she realized exactly what he was offering. "I hope to someday bring honor back to this name in the view of the world, but I hoped that you have come to now find some appeal in the appellation."

"Raymond..." she started, and stopped as he rose from his seat to kneel down in front of her chair, just as he had that day in the park in New York. He took her hands in his and smiled his most fragile hopeful expression.

"Please, Lizzie?" he implored.

He was quite pleased by her response.


End file.
